35546	----	Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON ILLUSTRATED BY A. S. BOYD [Illustration] A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN [Illustration: THE PRAYER p. 16] A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON ILLUSTRATED BY A. S. BOYD & PUBLISHED AT LONDON BY CHATTO & WINDUS MCMIX First Illustrated Edition published 1898, and a Second Impression in the same year. New Edition in 1907; and with Coloured Frontispiece in 1909. Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY THE ILLUSTRATOR A Lowden Sabbath Morn I The clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells, Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells, Sounds far an' near, An' through the simmer kintry tells Its tale o' cheer. II An' noo, to that melodious play, A' deidly awn the quiet sway-- A' ken their solemn holiday, Bestial an' human, The singin' lintie on the brae, The restin' plou'man. III He, mair than a' the lave o' men, His week completit joys to ken; Half-dressed, he daunders out an' in, Perplext wi' leisure; An' his raxt limbs he'll rax again Wi' painfü' pleesure. IV The steerin' mither strang afit Noo shoos the bairnies but a bit; Noo cries them ben, their Sinday shüit To scart upon them, Or sweeties in their pouch to pit, Wi' blessin's on them. V The lasses, clean frae tap to taes, Are busked in crunklin' underclaes; The gartened hose, the weel-filled stays, The nakit shift, A' bleached on bonny greens for days An' white's the drift. VI An' noo to face the kirkward mile: The guidman's hat o' dacent style, The blackit shoon, we noo maun fyle As white's the miller: A waefü' peety tae, to spile The warth o' siller. VII Our Marg'et, aye sae keen to crack, Douce-stappin' in the stoury track, Her emeralt goun a' kiltit back Frae snawy coats, White-ankled, leads the kirkward pack Wi' Dauvit Groats. VIII A thocht ahint, in runkled breeks, A' spiled wi' lyin' by for weeks, The guidman follows closs, an' cleiks The sonsie missis; His sarious face at aince bespeaks The day that this is. IX And aye an' while we nearer draw To whaur the kirkton lies alaw, Mair neebours, comin' saft an' slaw Frae here an' there, The thicker thrang the gate, an' caw The stour in air. X But hark! the bells frae nearer clang; To rowst the slaw, their sides they bang; An' see! black coats a'ready thrang The green kirkyaird; And at the yett, the chestnuts spang That brocht the laird. XI The solemn elders at the plate Stand drinkin' deep the pride o' state: The practised hands as gash an' great As Lords o' Session; The later named, a wee thing blate In their expression. XII The prentit stanes that mark the deid, Wi' lengthened lip, the sarious read; Syne wag a moraleesin' heid, An' then an' there Their hirplin' practice an' their creed Try hard to square. XIII It's here our Merren lang has lain, A wee bewast the table-stane; An' yon's the grave o' Sandy Blane; An' further ower, The mither's brithers, dacent men! Lie a' the fower. XIV Here the guidman sall bide awee To dwall amang the deid; to see Auld faces clear in fancy's e'e; Belike to hear Auld voices fa'in saft an' slee On fancy's ear. XV Thus, on the day o' solemn things, The bell that in the steeple swings To fauld a scaittered faim'ly rings Its walcome screed; An' just a wee thing nearer brings The quick an' deid. XVI But noo the bell is ringin' in; To tak their places, folk begin; The minister himsel' will shüne Be up the gate, Filled fu' wi' clavers about sin An' man's estate. XVII The tünes are up--_French_, to be shüre, The faithfü' _French_, an' twa-three mair; The auld prezentor, hoastin' sair, Wales out the portions, An' yirks the tüne into the air Wi' queer contortions. XVIII Follows the prayer, the readin' next, An' than the fisslin' for the text-- The twa-three last to find it, vext But kind o' proud; An' than the peppermints are raxed, An' southernwood. XIX For noo's the time whan pows are seen Nid-noddin' like a mandareen; When tenty mithers stap a preen In sleepin' weans; An' nearly half the parochine Forget their pains. XX There's just a waukrif' twa or three: Thrawn commentautors sweer to 'gree, Weans glowrin' at the bumlin' bee On windie-glasses, Or lads that tak a keek a-glee At sonsie lasses. XXI Himsel', meanwhile, frae whaur he cocks An' bobs belaw the soundin'-box, The treesures of his words unlocks Wi' prodigality, An' deals some unco dingin' knocks To infidality. XXII Wi' sappy unction, hoo he burkes The hopes o' men that trust in works, Expounds the fau'ts o' ither kirks, An' shaws the best o' them No muckle better than mere Turks, When a's confessed o' them. XXIII Bethankit! what a bonny creed! What mair would ony Christian need?-- The braw words rumm'le ower his heid, Nor steer the sleeper; And in their restin' graves, the deid Sleep aye the deeper. AUTHOR'S NOTE It may be guessed by some that I had a certain parish in my eye, and this makes it proper I should add a word of disclamation. In my time there have been two ministers in that parish. Of the first I have a special reason to speak well, even had there been any to think ill. The second I have often met in private and long (in the due phrase) "sat under" in his church, and neither here nor there have I heard an unkind or ugly word upon his lips. The preacher of the text had thus no original in that particular parish; but when I was a boy he might have been observed in many others; he was then (like the schoolmaster) abroad; and by recent advices, it would seem he has not yet entirely disappeared. ILLUSTRATOR'S NOTE I am not certain of the particular parish Stevenson had in his mind when he wrote this poem, but I am certain that the description is typical of almost any Scottish rural parish, Lowden (that is, _Lothian_) or other. In illustrating the verses it has seemed to me, therefore, unnecessary to make portraits from any one locality. I fancy the writer looked back to the period of his boyhood and to the people he knew in more than one part of his native country, so I have tried to depict that period and that class of people as I remember them in various counties of his land and mine. A. S. B. [Illustration] _The clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells, Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells, Sounds far an' near, An' through the simmer kintry tells Its tale o' cheer._ [Illustration] _An' noo, to that melodious play, A' deidly awn the quiet sway-- A' ken their solemn holiday, Bestial an' human, The singin' lintie on the brae, The restin' plou'man._ [Illustration] _He, mair than a' the lave o' men, His week completit joys to ken; Half-dressed, he daunders out an' in, Perplext wi' leisure; An' his raxt limbs he'll rax again Wi' painfü' pleesure._ [Illustration] _The steerin' mither strang afit Noo shoos the bairnies but a bit; Noo cries them ben, their Sinday shüit To scart upon them, Or sweeties in their pouch to pit, Wi' blessin's on them._ [Illustration] _The lasses, clean frae tap to taes, Are busked in crunklin' underclaes; The gartened hose, the weel-filled stays, The nakit shift, A' bleached on bonny greens for days, An' white's the drift._ [Illustration] _An' noo to face the kirkward mile: The guidman's hat o' dacent style, The blackit shoon, we noo maun fyle As white's the miller: A waefü' peety tae, to spile The warth o' siller._ [Illustration] _Our Marg'et, aye sae keen to crack, Douce-stappin' in the stoury track, Her emeralt goun a' kiltit back Frae snawy coats, White-ankled, leads the kirkward pack Wi' Dauvit Groats._ _A thocht ahint, in runkled breeks, A' spiled wi' lyin' by for weeks, The guidman follows closs, an' cleiks The sonsie missis; His sarious face at aince bespeaks The day that this is._ [Illustration] _And aye an' while we nearer draw To whaur the kirkton lies alaw, Mair neebours, comin saft an' slaw Frae here an' there, The thicker thrang the gate, an' caw The stour in air._ [Illustration] _But hark! the bells frae nearer clang; To rowst the slaw, their sides they bang; An' see! black coats a'ready thrang The green kirkyaird; And at the yett, the chestnuts spang That brocht the laird._ [Illustration] _The solemn elders at the plate Stand drinkin' deep the pride o' state: The practised hands as gash an' great As Lords o' Session; The later named, a wee thing blate In their expression._ [Illustration] _The prentit stanes that mark the deid, Wi' lengthened lip, the sarious read; Syne wag a moraleesin' heid, An' then an' there Their hirplin' practice an' their creed Try hard to square._ [Illustration] _It's here our Merren lang has lain, A wee bewast the table-stane; An' yon's the grave o' Sandy Blane; An' further ower, The mither's brithers, dacent men! Lie a' the fower._ [Illustration] _Here the guidman sall bide awee To dwall amang the deid; to see Auld faces clear in fancy's e'e; Belike to hear Auld voices fa'in saft an' slee On fancy's ear._ [Illustration] _Thus, on the day o' solemn things, The bell that in the steeple swings To fauld a scaittered faim'ly rings Its walcome screed; An' just a wee thing nearer brings The quick an' deid._ [Illustration] _But noo the bell is ringin' in; To tak their places, folk begin;_ [Illustration] _The minister himsel' will shüne Be up the gate, Filled fu' wi' clavers about sin An' man's estate._ [Illustration] _The tünes are up_--French, _to be shüre, The faithfü'_ French, _an' twa-three mair; The auld prezentor, hoastin' sair, Wales out the portions, An' yirks the tüne into the air Wi' queer contortions._ [Illustration] _Follows the prayer, the readin' next, An' than the fisslin' for the text-- The twa-three last to find it, vext But kind o' proud;_ [Illustration] _An' than the peppermints are raxed, An' southernwood._ [Illustration] _For noo's the time whan pows are seen Nid-noddin' like a mandareen; When tenty mithers stap a preen In sleepin' weans; An' nearly half the parochine Forget their pains._ [Illustration] _There's just a waukrif' twa or three: Thrawn commentautors sweer to 'gree,_ [Illustration] _Weans glowrin' at the bumlin' bee On windie-glasses, Or lads that tak a keek a-glee At sonsie lasses._ [Illustration] _Himsel', meanwhile, frae whaur he cocks An' bobs belaw the soundin'-box, The treesures of his words unlocks Wi' prodigality, An' deals some unco dingin' knocks To infidality._ [Illustration] _Wi' sappy unction, hoo he burkes The hopes o' men that trust in works, Expounds the fau'ts o' ither kirks, An' shaws the best o' them No muckle better than mere Turks, When a's confessed o' them._ _Bethankit! what a bonny creed! What mair would ony Christian need?_-- [Illustration] _The braw words rumm'le ower his heid, Nor steer the sleeper;_ [Illustration] _And in their restin' graves, the deid Sleep aye the deeper._ [Illustration] Works by Robert Louis Stevenson AN INLAND VOYAGE. EDINBURGH: PICTURESQUE NOTES. TRAVELS WITH A DONKEY. VIRGINIBUS PUERISQUE. FAMILIAR STUDIES OF MEN AND BOOKS. NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS. TREASURE ISLAND. THE SILVERADO SQUATTERS. A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES. PRINCE OTTO. THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE. KIDNAPPED. THE MERRY MEN. UNDERWOODS. MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS. THE BLACK ARROW. THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. FATHER DAMIEN: AN OPEN LETTER. BALLADS. ACROSS THE PLAINS. ISLAND NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS. A FOOTNOTE TO HISTORY. CATRIONA. WEIR OF HERMISTON. VAILIMA LETTERS. FABLES. SONGS OF TRAVEL. ST. IVES. IN THE SOUTH SEAS. ESSAYS OF TRAVEL. TALES AND FANTASIES. THE ART OF WRITING. PRAYERS WRITTEN AT VAILIMA. A CHRISTMAS SERMON. with Mrs. Stevenson THE DYNAMITER. with Lloyd Osbourne THE WRONG BOX. THE WRECKER. THE EBB-TIDE. 
38378	----	THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH IS IT OF DIVINE ORIGIN? By J. B. Remsburg Is the Christian Sabbath of divine origin? I propose to show that it is not--that there is no more divinity attached to Sunday than to any other day. I propose to show that the oft-repeated claim that it superseded the Jewish Sabbath by divine authority is false; I propose to show that it was originally a heathen holiday, borrowed from the pagan world--the _venerabile die solis_ a day once consecrated to the orb of light, but which has been obscured by the thick clouds of theological gloom, that in the darkness Superstition's bats and owls may the more easily secure their prey; I propose to show that this Puritanical institution, whose decrepit form, supported by the crutches of state laws, still lingers in our midst, is one of the most despicable frauds that a tyrannical priesthood ever imposed upon credulous humanity. I propose to show that he who deals in pious cant about "Sabbath desecration" is a knave, or else "Most ignorant of what he's most assured." The testimony that I bring is not the testimony of the enemies of Christianity, but of its friends--of its most learned, most loyal, and most honorable defenders. My witnesses include the great apostle, Paul; the most eminent of the Christian fathers; the Protestant reformers; and many more of the church's greatest scholars and divines. ST. PAUL. "One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind" (Rom. xiv, 5). "Let no man therefore judge you in meat, or in drink, or in respect of a holy day, or of the new moon, or of the Sabbath days" (Colossians ii. 16). JUSTIN MARTYR. "You, because you are idle for one day, suppose you are pious.... Our God is not pleased with such observances" (Dialogues, chap. xii). "You see that the heavens are not idle, nor do they observe the Sabbath" (Ibid, chap, xxiii). IRENÆUS. "These things [circumcision and Sabbath observance], therefore, which were given for bondage, and for a sign to them, he [Christ] canceled by the new covenant of liberty" (Against Heresies). TERTULLIAN. "The observance of the Sabbath is demonstrated to have been temporary" (Answer to Jews). "By us [Christians], to whom Sabbaths are strange" (On Idolatry). EUSEBIUS. "They [the patriarchs] did not therefore regard circumcision nor observe the Sabbath, neither do we" (Ecclesiastical History, Book I., chap. iv). ST. CYRIL. "Jesus Christ hath redeemed thee. Henceforth reject all observance of Sabbaths" (Savage's Sunday Observance). ST. EPIPHANIUS. "God regardeth not outward cessation from works more upon one day than another" (Taylor's Works, Vol. XII). ST. JEROME. "Considered in a purely Christian point of view all days are alike" (Neander's Church History, Vol. III.). "As soon as they [certain devout Christian women] returned home on the Lord's day, they sat down severally to their work, and made clothes for themselves and others" (Heylyn's History of the Sabbath, Part II., chap. iii). LUTHER. "As regards the Sabbath, or Sunday, there is no necessity for keeping it" (Michelet's Life of Luther, Book IV., chap. ii). "Paul and the apostles, after the gospel began to be preached and spread over the world, clearly released the people from the observance of the Sabbath" (Luther's Works, Vol. III., p. 73). "If anywhere the day is made holy for the mere day's sake--if anywhere any one sets up its observance upon a Jewish foundation--then I order you to work on it, to dance on it, to ride on it, to feast on it--to do anything that shall reprove this encroachment on the Christian spirit of liberty" (Table Talk). MELANCTHON. "The scripture allows that the observance of the Sabbath has now become void, for it teaches that the Mosaic ceremonies are not needful after the revelation of the gospel" (Augsburg Confession). "The observance neither of the Sabbath nor of any other day is necessary" (Ibid). BUCER. "It is not only a superstition, but an apostasy from Christ, to think that working on the Lord's day, in itself considered, is a sinful thing" (Cox's Sabbath Laws, p. 289). ZWINGLE. "It is lawful on the Lord's day, after divine service, for any man to pursue his labors" (Ibid, p. 287). BEZA. "No cessation of work on the Lord's day is required of Christians" (Ibid, p. 286). ERASMUS. "It is meet, therefore, that the keeping of the Sabbath day give place to the commodity and profit of man" (Paraphrase on Mark). CALVIN. "The Fathers frequently call the command for the Sabbath a shadowy commandment, because it contains the external observance of the day, which was abolished with the rest of the figures at the advent of Christ.... The same day which put an end to the shadows admonishes Christians not to adhere to a shadowy ceremony" (Institutes, Book II., chap. viii). "Christians, therefore, should have nothing to do with a superstitious observance of days" (Ibid). ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. "The Jews were commanded to keep the Sabbath day, but we Christians are not bound to such commandments of Moses's law" (Cranmer's Catechism). WILLIAM TYNDALE. "We be lords over the Sabbath, and may yet change it into Monday, or into any other day as we see need, or may make every tenth day holy" (Answer to More, Book I., chap. xxv). JOHN FRITH. "We are in manner as superstitious in the Sunday as they [the Jews] are in the Saturday; yea, are we much madder; for the Jews have the word for their Saturday, since it is the seventh day, and they are commanded to keep the seventh day solemn; and we have not the word of God for us, but rather against us, for we keep not the seventh day as the Jews do, but the first, which is not commanded by God's law" (Declaration of Baptism). COLERIDGE. "The English Reformers took the same view of the day as Luther and the early church" (Comments on Luther's Table Talk). DR. HESSEY. "The Reformers were nearly unanimous on this point. Sabbatarianism of every phase was expressly repudiated by the chief reformers in almost every country" (Bampton Lectures). JOHN MILTON. "The law of the Sabbath being thus repealed, that no particular day of worship has been appointed in its place [by divine authority] is evident" (Christian Doctrines, Book II., chap. vii). GROTIUS. "These things refute those who suppose that the first day of the week was substituted in place of the Sabbath, for no mention is ever made of such a thing by Christ or his apostles" (Annotations on Exodus). ARCHBISHOP PALEY. "The observance of the Sabbath was not one of the articles enjoined by the apostles" (Moral Philosophy, Book V., chap. vii). "The opinion that Christ and his apostles meant to retain the duties of the Jewish Sabbath, shifting only the day from the seventh to the first, seems to prevail without sufficient reasons" (Ibid). "The resting on that day from our employments, longer than we are detained from them by attendance upon these assemblies, is, to Christians, an ordinance of human institution" (Ibid). ARCHBISHOP WHATELY. "It is not merely that the apostles left us no command perpetuating the observance of the Sabbath, and transferring the day from the seventh to the first.... There is not even any tradition of their having made such a change; nay, more, it is even abundantly plain that they made no such change" (Notes on Paul). JEREMY TAYLOR. "The Lord's day did not succeed in the place of the Sabbath, but the Sabbath was wholly abrogated" (Taylor's Works, Vol. XII). "The primitive Christians did all manner of works upon the Lord's day, even in times of persecution, when they were the strictest observers of all the divine commandments" (Ductor Dubitantium, Book II., chap. ii). BISHOP WHITE. "In St. Jerome's days, and in the very place where he was residing, the devoutest Christians did ordinarily work upon the Lord's day, when the service of the church was ended" (Dialogues on the Lord's Day, p. 236). BISHOP WARBURTON. "The observance of the Sabbath is no more a natural duty than circumcision" (Divine Legation, Book IV., sec. 6). WILLIAM PENN. "To call any day of the week a Christian Sabbath is not Christian, but Jewish" (Penn's Works). CANON BARRY. "The notion of a formal substitution, by apostolic authority, of the Lord's day for the Jewish Sabbath... has no basis whatever in holy scripture or in Christian antiquity" (Lecture on Sabbath). REV. JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. "Scholars are now generally agreed that the Sabbath obligation was not transferred by Christ or his apostles to the first day; that there is not in the Christian scriptures [New Testament] a single command to keep the Sabbath in any form or on any day" (North American Review). ANDREWS. "The festival of Sunday is more ancient than the Christian religion, its origin being lost in remote antiquity. It did not originate, however, from any divine command nor from piety toward God; on the contrary, it was set apart as a sacred day by the heathen world in honor of their chief god, the sun" (History of the Sabbath, p. 258). VERSTEGAN. "Unto the day dedicated unto the especial adoration of the idol of the sun, they [the pagans] gave the name of Sunday, as much as to say the sun's day or the day of the sun. This idol was placed in a temple, and there adored and sacrificed unto" (Antiquities, p. 68). MORER. "Sunday being the day on which the gentiles solemnly adored that planet, and called it Sunday,... the Christians thought fit to keep the same day and the same name of it, that they might not appear causelessly peevish, and by that means hinder the conversion of the gentiles" (Dialogues on the Lord's Day, p. 22). DEAN MILMAN. "The day of the sun would be willingly hallowed by almost all of the pagan world" (History of Christianity, Book III., chap. iv). DOMVILLE. "Centuries of the Christian era passed away before the Sunday was observed by the Christian church as a Sabbath. History does not furnish us with a single proof or indication that it was at any time so observed previous to the Sabbatical edict of Constantine in a.d. 321" (Six Texts, p. 241). "Not any ecclesiastical writer of the first three centuries attributed the origin of Sunday observance either to Christ or to his apostles" (Six Texts, supplement). KITTO. "Though in later times we find considerable reference to a sort of consecration of the day [Sunday], it does not seem at any period of the ancient church to have assumed the form of such an observance as some modern religious communities have contended for. Nor do these writers in any instance pretend to allege any divine command, or even apostolic practice, in support of it" (Cyclopedia of Biblical Literature, Art. Lord's Day). COX. "There is no evidence, however, that either at this, or at a period much later, the observance was viewed as deriving any obligation from the Fourth Commandment; it seems to have been regarded as an institution corresponding in nature with Christmas, Good Friday, and other festivals of the church" (Sabbath Laws, p. 281). NEANDER. "The festival of Sunday, like all other festivals, was always only a human ordinance" (Church History, Rose's translation, p. 186). DR. HENGSTENBERG. "The opinion that the Sabbath was transferred to Sunday was first broached in its perfect form, and with all its consequences, in the controversy which was carried on in England between the Episcopalians and Presbyterians [about the close of the sixteenth century]. The Presbyterians were now in a position which compelled them either to give up the observance of the Sunday, or to maintain that a divine appointment from God separated it from the other festivals. The first they could not do.... They therefore decided upon the latter" (Lord's Day, p. 66). DR. HEYLYN. "The brethren had tried many ways to suppress them [church festivals] formerly, as having too much in them of the superstitions of the church of Rome, but they had found no way successful till they fell on this, which was to set on foot some new Sabbath doctrine, and, by advancing the authority of the Lord's-day Sabbath, to cry down the rest" (History of the Sabbath). "Though Jewish and Rabbinical this doctrine was, it carried a fair show of piety, at the least, in the opinion of the common people, and such as did not stand to examine the true grounds thereof, but took it upon the appearance; such as did judge, not by the workmanship of the stuff, but the gloss and color, in which it is not strange to see how suddenly men were induced, not only to give way unto it, but without more ado to abet the same, till in the end, and in very little time, it grew the most bewitching error and most popular infatuation that ever was infused into the people of England" (Ibid). REV. J. N. WAGGONER. "Read your Bible through a hundred times with reference to this subject, and you will each time become more and more convinced of the truthfulness of the following notable facts: 1. There is no divine command for Sunday observance. 2. There is not the least hint of a Sunday institution. 3. Christ never changed God's Sabbath to Sunday. 4. He never observed Sunday as the Sabbath. 5. The apostles never kept Sunday for the Sabbath. 6. There is no prophecy that Sunday would ever take the place of the Sabbath. 7. Neither God, Christ, angels, nor inspired men have ever said one word in favor of Sunday as a holy day" (The Truth Found). CARDINAL GIBBONS. "Read the Bible from Genesis to Revelation, and you will not find a single line authorizing the sanctification of Sunday as a Sabbath" (Faith of Our Fathers). ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. "There is no precept or command in the New Testament to compel by civil law any man who is not a Christian to pay regard to the Lord's day. It is without authority of the Christian religion. I write this from principle. I have but one object in view--the suppression of an anti-rational, anti-constitutional, and anti-scriptural confederation, that I conscientiously believe to be dangerous to the community, and inimical to civil and religious liberty; and while I am able to wield pen, I will oppose every such encroachment on human right*" (Washington, Pa., Reporter, 1821). St. Patrlck's Cathedral, New York. Valued at $800,000. Not Taxed. PRESIDENT GARFIELD in Congress, June 22, 1874, said: "The divorce between the church and the state ought to be absolute. It ought to be so absolute that no church property, anywhere in any state, or in the nation, should be exempted from equal taxation; for if you exempt the property of any church organization, to that extent you impose a church tax upon the whole community." The census of 1890 gave the United States church property worth $679,426,489. The 1906 census showed $1,257,575,867. The value had nearly doubled in 16 years. Although church property doubles in 16 years, church membership would not double in' 70 years, for the 36,000,000 members in 1911 gained but a half million in 1912. Church progress, then, is not counted in converts, but in dollars accumulated through an exemption which in New York equals the cost of caring for all the city's poor. PRESIDENT GRANT in his annual message of 1875 said: "In a growing country, where real estate enhances so rapidly with time as in the United States, there is scarcely a limit to the wealth that may be acquired by corporations, religious or otherwise, if allowed to retain real estate without taxation. The contemplation of so vast a property as here alluded to, without taxation, may lead to sequestration without constitutional authority, and through blood. I would suggest the taxation of all property equally." 
48182	----	produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) Transcriber's notes: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. * * * * * THE SABBATH. A PAPER READ AT THE CONFERENCE OF THE EVANGELICAL ALLIANCE, HELD AT GENEVA, SEPTEMBER 2. 1861. BY ANDREW THOMSON, D.D., EDINBURGH. WITH PREFACE BY THE REV J. C. RYLE, B.A., CHRIST CH., OXFORD, STRADBROKE, SUFFOLK. 430th Thousand. LONDON: JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET. EDINBURGH: ANDREW ELLIOT, 15 PRINCE'S STREET. AND ALL BOOKSELLERS. 1863. EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY JOHN GREIG & SON. PREFATORY NOTE BY REV. J. C. RYLE. I have been requested, as an English Clergyman, to preface Dr A. Thomson's valuable paper on the Scottish Sabbath by a few recommendatory words. I comply with the request with much pleasure, though I feel that the paper needs no _imprimatur_ of mine. I am sensible, however, that there exists a certain amount of prejudice in many English minds against Scottish views of the Sabbath question. Too many Christians south of the Tweed are in the habit of regarding our northern brethren as "legal," "Judaizing," and "extreme" upon this subject. In the matter of all the leading Evangelical doctrines, they profess to admire their statements. In the matter of the Sabbath question, they say the Scotch "go too far." I venture to think that this prejudice is not just. It is in fact a thorough "prejudice," a judgment passed without examination, a prejudged decision without any reasonable foundation. I believe that Scottish views of the Sabbath are scriptural, reasonable, and practical. As a proof of my assertion, I earnestly request the attention of English Christians to the following paper. My own firm conviction is, that, in the matter of Sabbath observance, Scotland has nothing to be ashamed of in her principles, and England has much to learn. I can only say that the paper which I have undertaken to preface appears to me to deserve a wide circulation and an attentive perusal. That it is written in a Scotch style, and is consequently not so well suited to our uneducated classes as a more popular and less argumentative production, are facts which I do not pretend to deny. But there are myriads of hard-headed, thinking English readers in the middle and upper sections of the lower classes--myriads of tradesmen in our great cities, and assistants in our great houses of business, to whom I think this paper is eminently calculated to be useful. It is to them that I heartily commend it. "My heart's desire and prayer to God" is now, and ever shall be, that He will bless this and every kindred effort to maintain the holiness of God's day, and to raise higher the standard of Sabbath observance. The subject is intimately connected with the best interests of the British churches and the British nation. From a Continental Sabbath may Great Britain ever be delivered! There is but a gradual descent, after all, from "No Sabbath" to "No God." J. C. RYLE, B.A. CHRIST'S CHURCH, OXFORD. STRADBROKE VICARAGE, SUFFOLK, _November 1. 1862_. "The first creature of God in the works of the Days, was the light of the sense; the last was the light of reason; and His Sabbath work ever since is the illumination of His Spirit."--_Bacon._ "Men should not be idle, but busy on the Sabbath-day, about the soul as men on the week-day about the body."--_Wycliffe._ THE SABBATH. I have been requested to make some statements to the Alliance in reference to the observance of the Sabbath in Scotland; and I think I shall best accomplish the task committed to me, by presenting, in as condensed a form as possible, a view of general Scottish opinion on this vital subject, some details regarding our modern Scottish experience, with notices of the principal dangers to which I believe the cause of the Sabbath in Scotland to be at this time exposed. In doing this while I shall have to confirm the impressions of many brethren in other countries, there are also some misapprehensions which I am glad to be favoured with such an opportunity of dispelling. 1. _It is true, then, that our ministers and Christian people in Scotland, almost without exception, believe in the Divine authority and perpetual obligation of the Sabbath-day._--They base their respect for it, not upon any ecclesiastical appointment, however venerable, or upon any time-honoured custom, however ancient, but upon the conviction that it is a benignant and unrevoked gift of Heaven to the human race. Ask any intelligent Christian throughout Scotland, no matter to which of our evangelical denominations he belongs, on what ground he keeps holy the weekly Sabbath, and he will tell you that he does this because he believes that it was given to man in Eden--an institution not for a nation or for a limited period, but for the world and for all time,--that it was republished to the Jews from Mount Sinai, not in the midst of transient ceremonial appointments, but "enshrined amid the eternal verities of the moral law,"--and that at the resurrection of Christ, while the mere day of its observance was changed by apostolic sanction, it entered on a new course, and became linked with new associations--the memorial, from that hour, of completed redemption as well as of completed creation. And in this fact, more than in any other, we find the secret strength of our Sabbath observance. From the peculiar constitution of the Scottish mind, as well as from the social condition of Scotland, the Sabbath would not stand its ground for many years were it based upon a foundation less stable, or surrounded by a sanction less sacred than a Divine command; and I affirm with confidence, that one effect of the re-discussion of the whole question of the Sabbath, which has been forced upon its friends in Scotland during recent years, has been to make the convictions of our Christian people regarding its Divine authority more deep, more intelligent, and therefore more immovable. 2. _A second distinguishing feature in the Sabbath-keeping of Scotland consists in the fact, that we consider the entire Sabbath to be specially and equally consecrated to religion._--The length of the sacred day we believe to be just the same as the length of common days. We know nothing of the distinction of "canonical hours," as if one part of the day were in any degree more hallowed than another; and all such distinctions we are accustomed to regard as a pernicious and presumptuous tampering with Divine rule, a narrowing of our charter, not indeed of inglorious idleness, but of holy rest. But while we look upon every part of the Sabbath as a dedicated thing, in the sense of our abstaining from all such secular employments and recreations as would be lawful on other days, its religious exercises are wisely and happily diversified; and in this allotment of the Sabbath's holy work, very much is left to the discretion of individuals and of churches. This statement, I believe, may do something to remove one injurious and prevalent mistake regarding our Scottish manner of keeping the Lord's day. Were I to describe a well-spent Sabbath-day, such as is spent by thousands of men in Scotland who are the salt of our land, and the life and glory of our churches--such as was spent by the best of the English Puritans two hundred years since, often leading them to confess, at the close of such a day, "Surely if this be not heaven, it must be the way to it;"--I should paint it in some such manner as the following:--The good man rises from his slumbers to realise the fact that it is God's day of sacred rest, and to open his mind to its devout associations. There is an unwonted stillness in the streets, and in the fields all around him, which that day only brings. The care of the body is not unheeded, and there is even a double attention to cleanliness and to taste in his attire; secret devotion is more prolonged than on other days, as it is more undisturbed; the family is in due time summoned around the frugal meal, it being perhaps the only day in the week in which they all meet at the same board; kind words and of affectionate counsels are interchanged; events in the family history are alluded to, and made the theme of edifying reflection; family-worship follows, and on this occasion the little family choir is unbroken, and sends up its full-voiced praise to heaven. The time has come for joining the companies that are already crowding to the houses of prayer. A brief interval, and a second frugal meal follows, and there is another ascent to the temple to worship God. Then comes the happy Sabbath evening, in which the Christian parents gather their children around them for religious instruction, and for recalling and reviewing the lessons of the sanctuary. Domestic affection has time to expatiate and grow in that Sabbath atmosphere; the Bible and other religious books are read; psalms and hymns are joyfully sung. Mercy joins her work with that of piety; the sick and the sorrowful are visited and comforted; neglected children are taught in the Sabbath-school; unreclaimed masses are evangelised in the mission district. The family once more re-assembles at the evening meal, and the Sabbath is closed with family worship, meditation, and secret devotion; and as the members of the household pass away to their nightly rest, it is felt that its hours have not been wearisome or unprofitable, but that they have in truth been all too short for the blessed work that was to be done in them. 3. It will not be wondered at, after these details, that in Scotland we claim the entire Sabbath for religion, not only because it forms part of our most sacred convictions that it has been so conferred upon us by the unrepealed act of Heaven, but also because _we are of opinion that, within narrower limits than this, the Sabbath must ever fail to work out, to its proper extent, all its beneficent designs_. Anything less than this would be something like placing the sun under a partial eclipse, which you yet expected to ripen the fruits of the world. Suppose the period of the Sabbath to be restricted, as some would wish, to the hours of public worship, and men suddenly to pass from business or pleasure to the sanctuary, and then to pass with equal suddenness from the sanctuary to business or pleasure again, even the benefit of the season of public worship would be more than half lost. Nature in most men is incapable of violent transitions; it must have its dawn and its twilight; and were our Sabbath to consist only of the time that we spent in the temple, the world would be far more likely to introduce its corrupting and debasing influence into the Church, than the Church to send out its healing streams upon the world. It is no mere theory or conjecture this; for the experiment was actually tried in England in the reign of our Sixth James, in the publication of "The Book of Sports," when it was sought to make games and morris-dances alternate on Sabbaths with public religious worship; and the effect was to neutralise the power of the pulpit, and to deluge the land with frivolity, irreligion, and vice. There must be the preparation and attuning of the mind for public devotion and instruction, by secret prayer and meditation; there must be the recollection and the holy repose of the soul afterwards; there must be the hallowed intermingling of deeds of charity with exercises of piety, and room for the revival and the play of home affections, if the Sabbath is to shed all the good which the beneficence of Heaven has put into it, upon churches and nations. And if there is need for such a Sabbath in any country, and among any people, even were they as pastoral and contemplative in their daily habits as Abraham in Canaan, or as Moses when tending the flocks of Jethro, it is immeasurably more indispensable to the intellectual and religious wellbeing of men living in old countries such as Scotland or England, where over-population has unduly crowded the market of labour, and given rise to an unhealthy competition, in which men often need to strain their wits and their energies to the utmost in order simply to live. Nothing will save a people in such a community from an undue mental strain unfavourable alike to intellectual and moral health, and even from being wrought in great numbers to death, but the weekly recurrence of a day which is fenced off and guarded by Divine prescription, and attachment to which is deeply rooted in the religious convictions and the gratitude of the people. There are tens of thousands of our industrial classes, and even multitudes among our men of business, who seldom see the younger members of their families, except on Sabbath-day. And to what a debasing monotony of toil would the lives of these men speedily be reduced, were it not for the anticipation of the coming day of hallowed rest, in which the artisan should know no master, and the master himself should be disturbed by no postman's rap or din of business, and should exchange his ledger for his Bible, and the hardening influences of commercial competition and rivalry for the softening and purifying influences of home and of the house of God. On this day, our sons of toil stand erect in the full consciousness of their manhood and of their heavenly birthright; and shall the day which brings such privilege and blessing to man be described as a restraint? It is such a restraint as the shutting of the door of the ark was to Noah, which kept the deluge out, and the patriarch safe. It is like the fence of flowers which we may imagine to have been drawn around Paradise when Adam dwelt in it; and to many a wearied and wasted labourer, when this day has returned with healing in its wings, it has seemed as if the primeval curse was suspended, and Eden threw open its closed gates for a season to receive the wanderer back. 4. It is true, then, speaking of the people of Scotland generally, that we rest our Sabbath observance on Divine appointment, and that we cling tenaciously to a whole Sabbath. This is our crown, which I trust no one will ever take from us, and which, indeed, can only be lost in a community of free men, by being voluntarily and guiltily abdicated. But in what I have hitherto said, I have spoken more of our Scottish principles than of our Scottish practice; and when I come to speak of this, _I find myself constrained to protest against two opposite representations that have been given of our Sabbath-keeping_, the one in the form of injurious caricature, and the other in a style of over-colouring that very greatly exceeds the sober reality. Of all the bold pictures in which certain of our modern novelists have indulged, there is none in which they have allowed their imaginations a more wild and unwarranted licence, than in the pictures with which they have entertained their readers of a Sabbath in a Scottish family. These pictures have been creations rather than caricatures. And there have been travellers who have become writers of fiction when they have touched on this subject, and who have quite equalled the novel-writers in the liberties they have taken with the simple truth. One writer, presuming, we suppose, on the safe distance of his readers from the scene which he describes, gravely informs them that in the city of Edinburgh all the window-blinds are kept carefully closed during the whole of the Sabbath, as if to attemper the gloom of the house to the gloomy state of mind of its inmates, and describes the little children as cowering under a vague sense of awe, and dreading to indulge even an innocent smile. Men who write thus may safely be affirmed never to have spent a single Sabbath-day in a religious family in Scotland. That the Sabbath is in no instance presented in a repulsive form before the young, by their rather being told what they are not to do, than of the blessed work to which the Sabbath summons them, it would be too much to affirm; for what institution of heaven does not occasionally suffer from human handling? But our danger, even in Scotland, in these days, does not arise from over-restraint or scrupulosity; and we speak from long and happy experience, when we assert that our Sabbath-keeping in Scotland is usually marked by a calm cheerfulness without frivolity, and that on that day, above all others, streams of gladness flow through myriads of hearts which have their secret and their fountain-head not in the exclusion of religion, but in the more complete turning of the mind to religious thoughts and associations. "Then wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet, retired solitude, Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets go her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired." How is it but on this account, that Scotsmen who have emigrated to our colonies have in so many instances written of their Sabbath evenings at home as among the most "sunny memories" of their youth? And it is a fact of much significance that an old ecclesiastical law of Scotland expressly provides that a religious fast shall never be held on the Lord's day, for this special reason, that the Sabbath was intended to be a day of joy. 5. _On the other hand, we are bound to acknowledge that there have been foreign brethren who have visited our island-shores, that have traced the picture of our Scottish Sabbath in colours greatly brighter than the reality._--They have only seen half the truth, and therefore they have only told the half. As they have beheld the streams of our church-going people crowding along the streets of our cities to our numerous temples, they have failed to reflect how even the best gifts of heaven, the Sabbath and the sunlight, are the most ready to be abused, and that, at that very moment, there were thousands loitering at home in indolence, and even not a few, perhaps, rioting in intemperance. At the same time, with all these sombre exceptions, that are necessary to be introduced as shadows into any truthful picture of a Scottish Sabbath, we do not wonder that good and intelligent visitors from continental countries have been impressed and delighted by the spectacle of such a day in Scotland. These are but exceptions after all. And there is surely something of high moral sublimity in the sight of a whole people, once in every week, ceasing from their business and their toil to celebrate the great facts of Creation and Redemption--"the plough left to sleep in the furrow," the loom motionless, the anvil silent, the mine and the factory tenantless, and the whole monotony of common life turned and elevated into a kind of sacred praise. This solemn pause over the wide extent of Scotland, seen still more perfectly in her rural districts than in her great cities, strikes us as the nearest approach we have ever known to national worship. And we do not wonder that all the great poets of our land,--our uninspired prophets, whose work it is to reflect and to idealise our purest national feelings,--should so often have "sung the Sabbath," and that the Sabbath pictures of our national poet Burns in his "Cottar's Saturday Night," though, alas, he seldom consecrated his great gifts to religion, shine as the most beautiful passages in a poem that seems marked for immortality. 6. It is not, however, as a mere sublime picture that we value at so high a rate the Sabbath-honouring habits of the Scottish people, but because _we are convinced that the practice nourishes and sustains the very roots of our national life, and keeps pure and deep the streams of our national morality and religion_.--It is not the least valuable result of the recent discussion of the Sabbath question in Scotland, that it has served to elicit and accumulate a mass of statistics demonstrating the close connection between the Sabbath observance and the religious prosperity of our people, as well as illustrating in a most interesting manner what has aptly enough been termed _the physiology of the Sabbath-day_. Thus, if we look through three centuries of the religious history of either portion of our island, it will be found that our Sabbath-keeping periods have uniformly been those in which the Church has been "as a well-watered garden." The two things have risen or fallen with each other, and have exerted mutual influence, as may be seen by comparing the age of Cromwell with that of either Charles. Inquiries on a very large scale, embracing all our principal professions and trades, were recently made in reference to the moral condition of those connected with each; and it was found that, from the costermonger and the bargeman upwards, the most Sabbath-breaking were also the most morally sunken and degraded. And our superintendents of police will tell you, that persons who are in the habit of honouring the Sabbath, and frequenting a place of worship, are more careful in their pecuniary transactions, "more careful also in their language, more economical in their arrangements at home, more affectionate and humane, and in every respect superior persons by far to those of contrary habits." Some who do not look with favour upon our Sabbatic rest, are accustomed to point to the drunkenness which exists among a certain class of our Scottish population; but it is not our Sabbath-keepers who are our drunkards. Some few years since, the moral statistics of certain congregations in Scotland, including a membership of thirty thousand, were collected, and it was found that an average of only two out of every thousand of those members had in the course of a year been charged with the sin of intemperance. And what is thus found to hold in the instance of large communities, is equally true in the case of individuals. So long as a Scottish youth respects the Sabbath and frequents the church, there is good hope regarding him, for he is coming under weekly influences that keep him right; but when these practices cease or become fitful, it is sure that virtue has begun to decay at the roots, if it be not indeed already dead; and Hogarth, one of our greatest painters, was therefore true to nature and experience, when, in his "Rake's Progress," he represented him in his first downward step to ruin as gambling on a tombstone in a churchyard while public worship was proceeding in the church near at hand. One of the sages of modern infidelity, Voltaire, who at one time dwelt on the shores of your beautiful lake, declared that he despaired of extinguishing Christianity so long as men assembled on a particular day of each week for Christian worship and instruction. And his remark shewed that he had discovered the value of the Sabbath to the Church; for public worship will never be common among a people where there is not the recognised sanctity of a Sabbath to preserve it. And let it never be forgotten, that it is far more easily preserved than recovered, for when any portion of its time is invaded, the habits of a people soon shape themselves to the new order of things. A spadeful of earth may prevent the inundation in Holland, but when once the sea has broken in, the strength of a million of men may fail to roll back its destructive waters. 7. _And if possible, the facts that have been supplied by the testimony of medical and other scientific men have been still more valuable and triumphant._--Recent physiological inquiries have placed it beyond doubt that man needs for repairing the waste of his body not only the nightly repose which night brings him, but, in addition, the weekly rest of a seventh day; and it has been noticed that in many of the industrial departments, especially in the more skilled and delicate forms of industry, there was a perceptible deterioration in what was produced in the last days of the week. Travellers on long journeys who have "rested the first day of the week according to the commandment," have outstripped travellers who pursued their journey on the seventh day, and have reached the end of their journey in far better health and spirits. The railway system itself, which, with all its other high advantages, has done not a little to disturb the integrity of our Sabbath rest, has strangely supplied us with valuable corroboration on this matter; for during the period in which our principal railways were in course of construction in Scotland and England, it was found that the work which those who laboured on Sabbath executed in seven days was generally less in amount and worse in execution than that done by sober, orderly, Sabbath-keeping men in six days. And the same remark is applicable to labourers with the head as with the hand; for in these days we must extend the phrase, "working men," far beyond the comparatively narrow region of the industrial arts. The statesman or the barrister who does not allow himself the weekly pause in his round of mental labour which the Sabbath of God offers him, soon finds nature punishing him for his disregard of its great laws; and instances are not rare, and some of them stand out as beacons in our modern biography, in which such a course has carried him that followed it, in the very noon-tide of his life, to the maniac's cell or the suicide's grave; while many a noble mind has retained its spring and freshness, and has been able to "serve its generation" to the last, by allowing the Sabbath to interpose its hallowed associations and exercises in the midst of its common and absorbing studies. Our great Coleridge strongly and beautifully said, "I feel as if God, by giving the Sabbath, had given fifty-two springs in the year;" and Isaac Taylor, a very voluminous author, and one of the most popular and philosophical of our theological writers, gives the following as the testimony of his long experience: "I am prepared to affirm that to the studious especially, and whether younger or older, a Sabbath well spent--spent in happy exercises of the heart, devotional and domestic--a Sabbath given to the soul, is the best of all means of refreshment to the mere intellect." There is a point, moreover, at which the physiology of this great subject touches closely on its moral and religious bearings, for it has been found that physical weariness leads to mental lassitude, and that mental lassitude indisposes the soul to moral considerations. Nor would it be easy to calculate to what an extent the recurrence of the Sabbath, where its hours have been turned to their proper and appointed uses, has been of moral advantage to our commercial men and our merchant princes, checking the fever of reckless speculation, restoring the moral balance of the mind, and "winding up the soul, which the body had poised down, to a higher degree of heavenliness." "A Sunday in solitude," said one of the greatest English statesmen of the last age, "never failed to restore me to myself." Facts like these, which might be almost indefinitely multiplied, do more than demonstrate the inestimable value of the Sabbath: they appear to me to suggest, on their own independent grounds, that an institution possessing such wise and benignant adaptations to our complex nature, must have been appointed by Him that made us and who "knows our frame;" and that "while the Sabbath was made _for_ man, it was not made _by_ him." A great writer on natural religion has founded a beautiful argument for the existence and unity of God, on the adaptation of day and night to the physical nature of man: might not an argument of equal soundness and force for the Divine origin of the Sabbath, be founded on its adaptation to our physical, intellectual, and spiritual nature? 8. But while it is unquestionable that the Sabbath argument has gained a large and permanent addition to its force from the experience and discussions of the last twenty years in Scotland, I have already said enough to apprise you that _this divine and truly beneficent institution is not without its enemies and its dangers_. I shall be forgiven when I express my fear that the increased influx of persons from other countries in which "the day of the Lord" is less honoured and hallowed, has had some effect in lowering the standard of its observance among ourselves.--I do not think that the arguments of ultra-spiritualists, who tell us that every day should be a Sabbath, has had much effect in misleading any who were not already willing to be misled. The device was too transparently shallow to do much harm where it had the characteristic shrewdness of the Scottish mind to deal with it. For why, it was answered, on the same principle, might it not be said that men should be always praying; and that therefore it was unnecessary to have fixed times and places for our secret devotions, and that we ought to dispense with the use of words. It was noticed, moreover, that if things were not sometimes solemnly done, they were likely to be never done, and that "every day a Sabbath" came practically to mean "no Sabbath at all."--At one period the railway system, which attempted to introduce with it railway travelling and traffic on the Lord's day, threatened to do violence to our religions convictions and national habits, and to introduce among us a wide-spread and constantly-growing mischief. But this plague was speedily stayed. The religious traditions of our community proved in most instances too strong for the cupidity of men who seemed prepared to sacrifice the highest interests, and to trample on the most sacred feelings of a whole community, for the sake of a larger annual dividend. The majority of our railways in Scotland do not run trains on Sabbath at all; and this is found to operate with immense gain to the public morals, with no inconvenience to trade or commerce, or even pecuniary loss to the proprietors of those stupendous undertakings. 9. But there is an influence at work which has already in some degree invaded our Sabbath-keeping in Scotland, and which I fear is working far more extensive and serious moral havoc in England. _I refer to the attempt which is made in so many places, and by so many parties, to use the day which has been given for sacred rest and religious worship, as a day of entertainment and amusement._--Picture galleries, Crystal palaces, museums of nature and art, or romantic scenes to which men can be carried in crowds by Sunday excursion-trains, are sought to be substituted for visits to the house of prayer, and for Christian instruction and worship. The argument for this insidious and perilous exchange is sometimes put in a kind of religious phraseology, as if these visits to beautiful scenes in nature were only the introduction to another kind of worship, and as if gazing upon the master-pieces of human art in painting, or sculpture, or architecture, exercised a purifying and elevating influence on the mind; and sometimes again it is dressed in the form of a spurious philanthropy, though it is found that those who are the most earnest advocates for the Crystal Palace or the Sabbath excursion-train, generally expect to derive pecuniary advantage from the practice. There never was an argument more triumphantly met by sound philosophy, or more completely refuted by experience. There is no denying, indeed, that visits to high works of art, to objects of curiosity, or to beautiful scenes in the natural world, may at their own time, and in their own place, be beneficial to the busiest and the poorest. But those who imagine that any of these things are capable, in any degree, of being a substitute for the weekly-recurring exercises of Christian worship, and instruction in the great truths of divine revelation, are strangely ignorant of the greatest wants and necessities of man. Who ever heard of looking upon pictures and images, however much they might breathe with genius, transforming the vile to pure, the earthly to divine! It is not by such appliances as these that the heart of any man has ever been made anew. The fact is, it is rather the æsthetic than the moral part of our nature that is influenced by them at all. They refine, but they cannot transform. They may "form the capital of the column, but not its base." The city of Munich contains one of the grandest picture-galleries in Europe, and it is also one of the most demoralized and debased of our European communities. The brigands around Rome were accustomed at the Carnival to visit the picture-galleries in that city, and many shewed high appreciation and discrimination in judging of the works both of ancient and of modern painters, but these influences never succeeded in wooing one of them from his life of violence and crime. And if the history of ancient Greece in its decay reads one lesson to the world more loudly than another, it is this, that refinement of taste may be associated in the same individual and people with the greatest debasement and corruption of morals. And experience in our own island confirms us in the assertion, that these things are impotent for the regeneration of a people; and that when they are engrafted on the Sabbath, and made the substitute for its religious and proper services, they tend in the reverse direction. The gin-palace soon plants itself around these places of public entertainment and amusement, and finds in them a smooth and fascinating pathway to its snares; and few spectacles in our land are more riotous, more debased, more miserable, or more alarming as regards the future of our country, than a Sunday excursion-train, when it comes back and empties upon a city its pleasure-seekers and worshippers of nature. It is well known to masters, that such men, depressed by the reaction of riot and excitement, seldom return to their labours on Monday along with the tradesman who has turned his Sabbath to its proper and sacred uses. Nor is it difficult to foresee that if once the Sabbaths in Scotland and England were generally given to pleasure-seeking, they would ere long be bought up by commercial cupidity and enterprise, and the career of the working-man would resemble that of Samson, first sitting on the lap of pleasure, then bound and groaning in intellectual darkness and moral night, and ending his retributive course by drawing down upon himself and upon those who had enslaved him the pillars of our social edifice. "The mere animal," says the late Hugh Miller, "that has to pass six days of the week in hard labour, benefits greatly by a seventh day of mere animal rest and enjoyment: the repose, according to its nature, proves of signal use to it, just because _it is_ repose according to its nature. But man is not a mere animal: what is best for the ox and the ass is not best for him; and in order to degrade him into a poor unintellectual slave, over whom tyranny, in its caprice, may trample roughshod, it is but necessary to tie him down, animal-like, during his six working-days, to hard, engrossing labour, and to convert the seventh into a day of frivolous unthinking relaxation." But we believe that the heart of Scotland generally is sound and enlightened on the Divine authority and the inestimable value of the Sabbath-day. To our minds it stands sacredly associated with the greatest events in human history, and in the intercourse of God with man--the completed handiwork of Almighty power, when God looked around Him upon the young and unfallen world, and pronounced all to be good--the giving of the Divine law from the sacred mount amid the signs of the present Deity--and the rising of our Redeemer from the grave, and the rising with Him of the hope of our world. We are a free and happy people, we have conquered the ruggedness of our soil, and coped successfully with our ungenial climate; but it is to our religion that we owe our freedom, for who can enslave a people that fear God? and we regard our Sabbath as the bulwark of our godliness. It is our Tabor, on which we ascend weekly and meet with celestial visitants; our Jacob's ladder on which we climb to heaven's gate; the shield and nutriment of our domestic affections, it keeps the heart of our households warm and pure. It is not to be abolished, but extended; and even when it passes away at the end of time, it will not go out in whirlwind or tempest, but "As sets the morning-star, which goes Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides Obscured among the tempests of the sky, But melts away into the light of heaven." 
41993	----	Transcriber's note: Italics is represented with underscore _ (_italics_) and small caps with ALL CAPS. The following correction has been made: p. 9: "members of one famliy" famliy changed to family. Everything else is retained as printed. THE SABBATH AT HOME. BY THE REV. SILAS M. ANDREWS. PHILADELPHIA: PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION. JAMES RUSSELL, PUBLISHING AGENT. 1840. Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1836, by A. W. MITCHELL, in the office of the Clerk of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. THE SABBATH AT HOME. It is not proposed to dwell, in the following pages, upon the arguments that might be brought forward to prove that the Sabbath is a Divine institution, established and sanctified by the Creator on the seventh day, after all his works were finished, and renewed to Israel on the descent of the manna. Nor shall I attempt to show, from the Scriptures, that the Sabbath is a Christian institution, as well as a Jewish ordinance; or call your attention to the satisfactory reasons we have for observing, as holy time, the first day of the week, and not the seventh. No controversy will be maintained with any who object to the Sabbath as commonly acknowledged by Christians. He who sincerely seeks for instruction, has no need of such argument; he already believes the Sabbath is the Lord's, and that it is to be sanctified by a holy resting all the day. The design of this Tract is to point out and illustrate the most profitable manner of spending that part of the Lord's day which is not employed in the public exercises of Divine worship. That your family, in each of its members, may profitably spend _the Sabbath at home_,-- I. By Saturday evening have your worldly business arranged to keep the Sabbath. Few families pursue their business or trade, the same on the Sabbath as on any other day. But there are many who do not keep it as a sacred rest. If they do not plough and sow; if the sound of the anvil and the saw is not heard in their shops; if they do not, with open doors, buy and sell, and get gain; there is another species of worldly business to which they do attend, which, though not so much noticed by others, properly belongs to the six days in which work may be done. Such persons may be said to make arrangements, not to _keep_, but to _profane_ the Sabbath. "This matter need not be attended to now, while other things press upon us--it may be postponed until Sunday. That journey must be performed--that plan laid with my neighbour--that errand accomplished _next Sabbath_, or it will interfere with the business of the week." To persons who thus feel, and who can thus act, I do not propose to address myself; they do not desire information; they have no wish to be instructed how they may more profitably spend the Sabbath. They would like best to hear of some new plan of retaining the Christian name, while they drive on their own trades and find their own pleasures. No argument would be more pleasing to them than one which might go to prove that because the Sabbath was made for _man_, therefore man may use the Sabbath according to his own pleasure. But to you, my readers, who I trust are desirous of being taught your duty, and are willing to be exhorted that you may enter upon its performance, I would say, on Saturday arrange your worldly business to keep the Sabbath. It must not be forgotten, that this is much more easily done in some families than in others. It depends upon the number of the household,--upon the occupation of the different members,--whether they all think alike on the sanctification of the Sabbath, and are disposed to unite in bringing their worldly affairs to such an issue, that they may have _all_ the following day for holy rest. With some, Saturday evening is a time of more leisure than any other of the week; while with not a few, it is a time of more hurry and pressure of business,--collecting debts, paying bills, fulfilling promises of the shop or store, than will again be encountered until Saturday returns. The cares of the week will press us, until steadfastly resisted. This resistance ought to be made with holy resolution, and sufficiently early to secure the Sabbath from being profaned. The arrangements of the shop, the labours of the farm, and the business of the office or counting house, must be closed on Saturday evening, or in vain we wake early the next morning to enjoy the Sabbath. Did we look no further than to success in this world's affairs, a maxim of prudence and economy would be, to bring our plans, as far as possible, to a close once every week. It promotes order in the transaction of business. It gives efficiency to our labours. We _finish_ more, which is the same as saying we _do_ more, than if our business were suffered to run on without interruption the year round. We must also take into account the vigour of both body and mind, which an entire day of rest from care and labour imparts. And who that reads his Bible, will think it strange for me to say, that the blessing of the Lord is upon him who sacredly regards the Sabbath? "If thou turn thy foot away from the Sabbath, [that is, do not impiously trample upon it,] from doing thy pleasure on my holy day, and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasures, nor speaking thine own words, then shall thou delight thyself in the Lord, and I will cause thee to ride upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father, for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it." Isa. lviii. 13, 14. What was the heritage of Jacob? The favour of God, with the richest productions of the field, and an increase of every worldly possession. We may appeal to observation. The influence of the Sabbath upon the _rich_ is not so easily discerned. But among those, who, in a peculiar manner, receive day by day their daily bread, it may be seen. And unless I greatly err, it will be found, that those families who observe the Sabbath, and attend upon its public and private duties, with desire to be profited, have, in comparison with those who do not thus regard the day unto the Lord, more peace of mind, more family comforts, and are better prepared to meet the demands which every year brings against them. Can a man rob God and prosper? rob Him, who can withhold our common blessings, or, as he has threatened, can curse them after given! Mal. ii. 2. Then, from consideration of both temporal and spiritual interest, let the Sabbath be regarded as a day of holy rest from the morning to the evening. And that we may attain to this, let us previously arrange all that pertains to our respective occupations, that we may wait upon the Lord without distraction of mind. Another matter that has an important bearing upon the sanctification of the Sabbath, you will permit me to mention. Though the institutions of Moses are not, as a system, binding upon Christians, yet from them we may often infer what is important in regard to the proper observance of that which is given us in their stead. Among other commands to Israel for the profitable keeping of the Sabbath, they were required to abstain, on the seventh day, from all work, except the preparation of their necessary food. How this command was to be understood we learn from Exod. xvi. 23. On the descent of manna, Moses said to the people, "To-morrow is the rest of the Holy Sabbath unto the Lord; bake that which ye will bake to-day, and seethe that ye will seethe; and that which remaineth over, lay up for you, to be kept until the morning." I am not about to say, that no family observes the Christian Sabbath, who does not fulfil the letter of this command. But may I not safely say, that the more nearly it is observed, the more profitably the day may be spent? If our tables are provided for on Saturday; if we bake that which we must bake, and seethe that we must seethe, and lay them up for the morrow, will not those members of the family, who attend public worship, have more time to devote to the reading of the Scriptures, to meditation, and other duties of Sabbath morning? What shall we say of those whose lot it may be to remain at home part of the day? Why, it is commonly answered, that as they have nothing else to do, they may as well prepare dinner for those at church. But have they nothing to do? Have they no Bible to read? No Scripture lessons to prepare for Sabbath School? No Catechism, that may be most conveniently committed to memory by them when left alone? Is meditation, and is prayer the duty of those only who are privileged with attending public worship? Have persons who labour in our families for hire, no need of one day of rest in seven? If _fasting_, as all ages and good men of every country have acknowledged, is promotive of the devotion of the heart, denying the appetite in some small degree cannot be injurious. And why should it be thought unreasonable that persons in our employment, and our children, who early notice the character of our religion, might receive some good impression, as to the nature of the Sabbath, by seeing us deny ourselves what on other days is innocent and right? I am not pleading that the Sabbath be made a day for afflicting our souls, but that we should not permit our sensual desires to interfere with our spiritual delight. On days of unusual political interest, we count it no sacrifice to be _deprived_ of a regular meal, or to take of that which comes to hand, because our delight is elsewhere. Let the same interest be felt in the Sabbath, and we shall be equally loth to permit that, which might be done on Saturday, to interfere with our enjoyment and spiritual profit. If each family would, on the preceding day, prepare, as far as practicable, for their table on the Sabbath, would not much time be redeemed for the appropriate duties of the Lord's day? To mention every thing that might, with advantage, be attended to on Saturday, bearing upon the Sabbath, would be to recount the events of each family--they all influence our profiting, though, when viewed separately, they seem hardly worthy of notice. I have known the men of more than one family to spend the best part of Sabbath morning, in making such alterations in their carriage and harness as were necessary, in order to attend meeting; which changes might much better have been made the evening before. In other households you will find the apparel appropriate to the Sabbath, must be subjected to certain emendations and improvements, before the family can be prepared for public worship. By this time the morning is gone, but the Sabbath of holy rest has not yet begun. How much more profitable, that all which pertains to our persons, "from a thread to a shoe-latchet," should be set in order before the Sabbath arrives, that as we have but one holy day in seven, we may enjoy it all. A full answer with many, is, "If I do nothing worse than these, I shall have little cause for alarm;"--to which I will only reply,--This is not the language of one seeking to be instructed, and desiring to honour God. It is not the spirit of the fourth commandment, which is, "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour and do ALL thy work: but the seventh is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do ANY work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, nor thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates." It is not according to the example and instruction of our pious fathers, who taught us that "the Sabbath is to be sanctified, by a holy resting all that day, even from such worldly employments and recreations as are lawful on other days; and spending the whole time in the public and private exercises of God's worship, except so much as is to be taken up in the works of necessity and mercy." II. That you may profitably spend the Sabbath, let all the members of your family, as far as practicable, be at home on Saturday evening, and there pass the following day. This will promote peace of mind, of parents especially. If members of your household are from home, you know not to what dangers they are exposed, or into what temptations they may be led. But if they be with you, under the same roof, this anxiety is in a great degree prevented. It conduces to the good order of a family, for all its members to be at home. If the parents are absent, there is danger of the house becoming a scene of noise and disorder, that does not well comport with the solemnity of the Sabbath. If there was nothing more to be said in favour of families never being deprived, on the Lord's day, of their presiding members, we might reasonably plead, that much evil would be prevented by the restraint of their presence. But there are not negative advantages only; there are positive ones also, which shall soon be mentioned. In every well ordered family, where industry and economy are found, there are certain duties assigned, by custom or common consent, to each member of the household. These are attended to by the persons on whom they devolve, during the week, much to the facilitating of business, and the prevention of trouble or confusion. Now if such be found a measure of expediency during days of labour, we may safely presume upon its utility when applied to the Sabbath. If it is important to save moments of _six_ days, it cannot be less desirable to secure the remnants of _one_ day. But if part of your family are from home on Sabbath morning, a double portion of necessary duties devolves upon those who remain; and as the duties they are called to perform in the place of the absent members, are not their own regular share of domestic cares, much additional time and attention will be demanded properly to fulfil them. It requires scarcely a trial, to convince us that the _whole morning_ may thus be lost, in performing what devolves upon others; and that when the hour of public worship arrives, the mind is hardly composed sufficiently to determine whether you can attend meeting or not. In addition to the quietness and good order secured by the presence of the parents or heads of the family on the Sabbath, it is important that they be at home all the day, that their household may not be left without family instruction. We all know that the best children need frequently to be reminded of their books, and encouraged and aided in their lessons. If the parents are from home, little will probably be done in the reading of the Scriptures, or learning the Catechism. Besides, there is great danger that the children will be suffered to pass without examination, or any systematic instruction in the doctrines and duties of religion, if the heads of the family are not at home all the day. For the reason just given, there will be no lessons for catechising: the parents may very probably be from home at the stated hour for family instruction: or, when they return, may feel too much wearied to attend to the duty; so that there is no way of securing to the children that teaching which they must have, but for the parents to be at home on the Sabbath. To secure the same desirable end, it is no less necessary that all the _children_ spend the day in the bosom of the family. If they are not present, and put themselves in the way of instruction, they cannot be taught. For all the family to be at home on the Sabbath, is one of the best preservatives against temptation. Is it possible for young people of different households, to associate on the Lord's day, and not be led into the sin of light and vain conversation? Can the world be shut out of such company, no matter how strict the injunctions of parents, and sincere the resolutions of those going from home? This leads us to speak of another matter, which ought not to be passed over, because it unavoidably, and to a degree of which many are not aware, interferes with the profitable sanctification of the Sabbath. I refer to _Sunday visiting_;--not that which commonly passes under the name, when several members of one family go and spend the day with their friends, as they would any afternoon in the week. Surely, none calling themselves Christians, and acknowledging that we have a Christian Sabbath at all, can approve of such a manner of spending the day. Nor is allusion made to visits to the sick, put off from day to day, that they may be paid without loss of time on the Sabbath, crowding the room of the patient, and instead of conferring a kindness, often inflicting an injury of many days' continuance. The custom to which I refer is different in character from both of these, but perhaps not less hurtful. It is the _connecting of visits with an attendance upon public worship_. I should be exceedingly sorry to wound the feelings of any one, whose age, or distance from meeting, may render it difficult both to go and return home the same day, without rest or refreshment. The duty of such is to accept of the kindness of their friends, either on Saturday night or after sermon on the Sabbath. Religion requires us to afford such entertainment to those who labour under disadvantages that do not lie upon us. But is it not very common for Christian families to form their plan for visiting their friends, not during the week, but on Saturday evening, to accompany them to meeting in the morning; or to go with them from public worship and spend the afternoon in their family? How many such visits are made profitable? In whose family does not the conversation become worldly and of little worth? In what visiting circle are the nature of religion, and the experience of the heart, the subjects upon which all unite profitably to pass the time? The difficulty with us all, of answering such questions without confusion, ought to lead us to ask, Is there not something wrong in such visits? When we engage in them, we are from our families. But home is our place on the Sabbath. We put ourselves in the way of temptation, before which, repeated trials have shown that we must fall. The family that receives the visit is deprived of as much of the Sabbath as we spend with them; for a cold family dinner, such as best adorns the Sabbath, is altogether out of character when our friends become guests; and to spend much time in reading even the Bible, while visitants are sitting by, would be thought strange indeed. The various conversation, the communicating and receiving of neighbourhood intelligence, leaves the minds neither of those who pay, nor of those who receive the visit, in a state properly to spend the remaining part of the Sabbath. While, therefore, it is easy to make what we esteem duty a burden, and we may hastily lay down rules which a few weeks will show us are no aid in religion, but a Pharisaical hinderance, yet, between this and the opposite extreme, of making the Sabbath a day of sociability and feasting, there is a wide field. The difficulty of determining upon duty, lies in this;--Sunday visits are not wholly wrong; some of them are right; it would be sin _not_ to visit the sick and dying. How then shall we determine when it is right, and when wrong, to visit on the Sabbath? What rule can we lay down? General rules are of little worth; each case has something peculiar in it, so that the mere letter of a law may be set aside. But let an enlightened conscience, governed by the fear of God, direct us. We are not to ask, What is fashionable? Do not many Christian families pay social visits on the Sabbath? Will it be considered inconsistent with my profession of religion to spend a few hours from home, or only twenty minutes with my friends at the next door?--Rather ask, Is it right? Shall I gain spiritual strength by doing so? Will my example be happy in its influence upon my children and others? Is this the way, that, above all, I would recommend to persons seriously asking, How may I most profitably spend the Sabbath day? III. In order profitably to pass the Sabbath at home, we must imbibe and cherish the impression that it is a holy day. It is in vain to form resolutions, until conscience be set about _her_ work. Our promises will last only until some worldly enjoyment bribes us silently to set them aside. Public sentiment is of little weight in favour of the profitable observance of the Sabbath; because it is of every possible shade. This holy day may be spent almost as we please; the laws of the land, to save it from profanation, being, as in all times past, a dead letter; prevailing custom allowing of almost every kind of recreation, if not of labour. Each denomination of those calling themselves Christians, having their own views and claiming the indulgence of their own practice. While some are more strict, others will hardly admit that the Sabbath is more sacred than any other day. Spend the time as you please, you will be in character: you will be sustained. You may search the Scriptures, and engage with your family in pious conversation, and no one has a right to murmur. You may spend the day in idleness and sleep, or in conversation about worldly business: the professional man may arrange the papers and books of his office, ready against Monday morning; we may wander over the fields, or visit our next door neighbours, or ride out in the afternoon, and who dare seriously complain? A store keeper may post his books; another may load his wagon for market; a printer may set his types; young people may spend the day in reading novels; I may go into my study and work problems in navigation, or for literary improvement, read Latin and Greek in heathen authors, and we shall none of us be disturbed; we may quietly pursue our respective courses the year round. Spend the time as we may, we are still in character, and will be sustained by the popular voice. Besides, that influence which is derived from the regard we have for what others think or say of us, will not control us in the bosom of our own families. We are there withdrawn from public view. The more retired we are, the more independent we feel, of either the approbation or ridicule of others. Though a regard for the character of our families may influence us, in some considerable degree, to sanctify the Sabbath, while there is no inducement to the contrary; yet when we most need it, such help fails us. Neither our own reputation, as respecters of religion, nor the influence we might exert for the honour and happiness of our families, will be sufficient to overcome strong temptation. But let the mind once come under the control of the belief, that the Sabbath is the Lord's, and that it is to be observed in holy rest all the day, and we have advanced farther in the sanctification of the Sabbath, than if we had matured a score of rules, and solemnly bound ourselves to keep them every one. Do we find it difficult to rise as early on that day as during the week, that with the morning we may commence our duties? Let conscience speak, and we shall wake early. Let our love to God, and his service, only be as strong as our attachment to the things of the world, and no more of the Sabbath will be wasted in slumber, than of Monday morning. Men who labour through the week, contend for this indulgence; that they are wearied and need rest: besides, that the Sabbath is given for rest. But, no reader of the Bible can say, that it is the rest of indolence and spiritual inactivity. The worship of God does not commonly demand the labours and exercise of the body; the mind only is called into healthful action; and this is also refreshing to the body. In answer to the plea, that being worn down with the cares of the week, and its toils, we may, consistently with duty, lie later on Sabbath morning than any other, it may be asked, Have we a right to expend our strength during the week, so as to unfit us for the duties of the Sabbath when they arrive? If we found ourselves disinclined early to seek the Lord, last Sabbath, are we not bound to guard against such languor, when this holy day shall again dawn? Is not duty plain, that we ought to relax our labours on Saturday, that we may not lose the most precious hours of the Lord's day? Were we _our own_, we might exercise our pleasure. But we are not. Man's chief end is, to glorify God, and enjoy him, in this world, as well as hereafter. Suppose you hire a man, to labour for you--you have a right to all his time; but you give him five days in the week for his own employment on condition that he will devote himself wholly to your work on the sixth. Has this man a right, so to arrange his business, and expend his strength, during the five days he labours for himself, that when the sixth day arrives, he cannot rise until late, nor commence his work until the morning be nearly past? Again, there are many things about which we perhaps have no difficulty, as respects ourselves; we may perform them or not, on the Sabbath, without injury. But the influence we may exert upon others, is with every conscientious man a serious consideration. In cases of difficulty, how shall we determine what is right? Not by expediency, or custom, or inclination, or a spirit of independence. These cannot be safely trusted. Let us call to mind, that the Sabbath is the Lord's; and that we are bound to glorify him, both in our conduct and our influence; and we shall not probably find much difficulty in deciding at once, what it is our duty to do. The same rule will also apply to cases of doubt, in respect to ourselves. Our reputation, or interest, or feelings give us their counsel, while other considerations may be placed over against these. Neither the one nor the other affords us any certain aid in determining upon what is our duty. But if the fear of God rule in our hearts, and his holy day be very precious to us, and its honour dear, the question, before so perplexing, becomes a very plain one. What must I do, in the observance of the Sabbath, _to promote the glory of God_? If we will allow conscience to speak, her voice may be heard; if we attend to her admonitions, guided by the light of Scripture, we shall not commonly, we shall not often, be left in doubt what is duty. For example, you may feel much wearied with the exercises, public and private, of the morning; and the recreation of a walk for half an hour in the afternoon, would be very refreshing to your exhausted system. But there are considerations to be weighed against this. As to profit in the street, or upon the frequented road, that is out of the question. Equally vain would be the attempt to keep the thoughts from wandering upon all that tempts the eye and ear. And then the effect that may result to others, must be taken into the account, and the light in which your conduct will be viewed, as connected with the sanctification of the Sabbath. The question is now easily decided, because duty appears plain. A great advantage also, attending this manner of solving difficulties is, that the decision is final; there remains no cavilling, when the determination is once made, _in the fear of God_. If you wish to keep the Sabbath profitably, and with enjoyment to yourself and family, labour to attain to, and cultivate the impression, that it is the Lord's day, and, therefore, to be kept holy. IV. Attendance, as far as practicable upon the public duties of religion, contributes much to the profitable observance of the Sabbath at home. The language of Scripture would lead us to this. "Six days shall work be done; but the seventh day is the Sabbath of rest, and holy convocation; ye shall do no work therein; it is the Sabbath of the Lord in all your dwellings." Lev. xxiii. 3. The Sabbath at home is well united with the holy convocation of the people of God, in the public ordinances of religion. If we consult the history of the Church, we shall find this to have been the opinion of the pious in every age. The Jewish nation, Christians in the time of the apostles, and the professing people of God in all countries since their day, have weekly assembled themselves together. Public worship promotes the observance of the Sabbath at home, by affording that instruction which is necessary to the proper performance of our duty. Though comparatively little time is spent on the Sabbath, in teaching publicly the doctrines of religion, and the duties that flow from them, yet there will be found a very great difference in the views of those who regularly hear the gospel, and of such as never enter a worshipping assembly. This does not wholly arise from the public instructions of the Sabbath,--those who hear the gospel are constrained to search for themselves, and to use other means to learn the duty which God requires of man. Among other things, they will soon learn that the Sabbath is to be sanctified, by a holy resting all the day, and that if they mean to do what is right, they must perform this duty also. But we may come to a knowledge of our duty, and yet have no inclination to do what is required. We need to be exhorted and encouraged. This is enjoined upon those who preach the gospel. They are commanded, not only to reprove and rebuke, but also to exhort; to help such as are discouraged, and to strengthen the feeble. And here, again, it will be found, that notwithstanding the multitude who hear the word preached, but observe not the Lord's day as a holy rest, they, who in any community sanctify it, are those who on that day attend public worship. I much question if a family, neglectful of public worship, can be found, that sanctifies the Sabbath at home. Again, the assembling of ourselves together, regularly on the Sabbath, greatly contributes to preserve that holy day from the danger of being profaned. All persons feel the confinement of the Sabbath. Nature seems to demand some recreation, both of body and mind. This is afforded us in public worship. The preparing of ourselves to assemble,--the ride, or walk, if we live near;--the variety in the exercises of the sanctuary,--the reading, singing, prayers, and sermons, are exceedingly refreshing to such as have a heart to enjoy them. They send us home better prepared for spending profitably the remainder of the day, than if all the time had been passed in our own dwellings. The remark of one who was deprived of preaching an entire day, we have probably all found true in our own experience,--That a Sabbath without public worship, when we have all the time to spend in duties at home, is no gain to the reading of the Scriptures. For want of variety in our duties, we become languid, and profit but little. Attendance upon public worship is favourable to a profitable spending of the Sabbath at home, because it promotes religion generally. It is in the house of God that we are taught what we must do to be saved, and how we are acceptably to serve our Creator. Parents and children are taught their relative duties, and are dismissed with pressing exhortation not to defer the paying of their vows. It is in the worshipping assembly, that the affections are moved, and interested for the glory of God. Here it is, that our consciences most closely press us with the important question, What must I do to work the works of God? In the ministry of reconciliation, dispensed to the assemblies of the Sabbath, sin is pointed out and reproved; negligence in duty reprimanded; the honour of religion defended; the sanctification of the Lord's day pleaded for; the feeble strengthened, and the wavering mind confirmed;--every Christian grace, in its order, becomes the subject of special consideration, and every duty, according to our station in life, is, with arguments to its immediate and constant performance, explained and pressed upon us. Then, let every one, who would profitably observe the Sabbath _at home_, conscientiously and faithfully attend public worship. This will save him and his family from many temptations to profane the Lord's day, and will afford him instruction, strength, and encouragement for the performance of his duties. V. Let the time not spent in public worship, be past at home in exercises becoming the sacredness of the Sabbath. Parents will permit me here to remind them of the duties they owe their households. Not to suffer the day to pass without important instruction to their children. It may very properly, and indeed ought to be various in its character, to suit the youthful mind; but all bearing upon the spiritual welfare of both parents and children. After returning from meeting, make inquiry about the text; what subject was treated in the sermon; particularly if any thing was said to children or the younger members of the family: whether any thing sinful in them was pointed out, and any good thing recommended for them to do. How much better would be the influence, upon our families and ourselves, of this course, than what must arise from a critical spirit, which often, not only keeps possession of the heart while we hear, but dictates all that is said of the sermon after we have returned home. Children ought to be taught their catechism on the Sabbath, and aided in their Sunday school lessons. The old Presbyterian method was, to devote Sabbath evening to instruction out of the Scriptures, and the reciting of the Shorter Catechism. A means of grace so important, ought not to be suffered by any family to fall into decay. It is of moment also, that not only in the conduct of the parents, the younger members may see the sacredness of the Lord's day, but that they should be instructed in the nature of the Sabbath; by whom it was appointed, and for what purposes; how it is to be sanctified; what we may do, and from what we must refrain. This would make children intelligent, and would stir up parents also to acquaint themselves more perfectly, through the aid of the excellent standards of our Church, and other sources of correct interpretation of the Scriptures, with what they may, from want of incentives to attention, but partially understand. Children ought to receive, at times, that instruction which is exclusively _religious_; ought to be conversed with affectionately about their souls, and the truth prest home to their hearts. If this be attempted, in the hurry of business during the week, though the seed may prosper, yet it is not probable. The Sabbath is the most encouraging time. The mind of the parent is then in a favourable state; the solemnities of the day contribute much to success, and prepare the hearts of your children to receive some good impression. Those Sabbath evening exhortations, though without even apparent effect at first, will follow your children, when your anxiety can no more watch over them, and may lead them to salvation, after your souls have gone to enjoy it in glory. _Reading_ is an exercise that ought to be particularly attended to on the Sabbath. We would do well to converse intimately and constantly with pious men in their writings, when we are not called to other duties. The great variety of journals and semi-romances, with which the professedly religious presses teem, has, at least, a questionable effect upon intelligent and vital religion. If the Sabbath were more devoted to the study of such books as Doddridge's Rise and Progress, Scougal's Life of God in the Soul, Flavel on Keeping the Heart, Owen on the Spirit, and Baxter's Saints' Rest, we would _feel_ in ourselves, and others would _see_ in us an increase of grace, which it is to be feared we do not enjoy from the food prepared to our fastidious palates. Above all, let the Bible be the book that is to be read on the Sabbath. The day is holy, the book is also holy. In the hurry of business through the week, we often feel that we are deprived of both enjoyment and profit in searching the Scriptures. But on the Lord's day we have leisure. All around us is quiet. The solemnities of the day give additional interest and sacredness to what we read. We can read much more at once than during the week, and profit by noticing the connexion of one passage with another. Many persons complain that they have little time to read, during the six days of labour. Such ought to devote, I was going to say, _all_ the Sabbath, to the study of the Scriptures. This was very much the method of our fathers. As they had few books, the _Bible_ claimed their attention on the Sabbath. And the nature of their religion, and their eminent piety, may well recommend to us their example. Members of the same family ought, on the Sabbath, to converse together on the state of their souls. Much may be done for their comfort and the promotion of religion, by thus communing together. We may speak in public of experimental religion, make the exercises of others the subject of remark; we may talk to Christians of other families about religion; but if our children and members of our household never hear us speak of these things, when only our own little circle is around us, they will very readily infer that it is not a subject greatly interesting to us. That which possesses our hearts we love to dwell upon in conversation with our own family. _Meditation_, though a difficult duty, is essentially necessary to a healthful state of mind, and is suited to no day more than to the Sabbath. The cares of the world are then shut out, and every thing seems to constrain us to turn our thoughts within. _Prayer_ is the duty of the Christian, the duty of every one, at all times. Our Saviour said, men ought always to pray and not to faint; and Paul exhorts us to pray without ceasing; praying always with all prayer. But there are certain times, when this duty can be performed with more profit, and in a manner more comforting to ourselves, than at others. Above all seasons, the Sabbath is appropriate for communion with God. And he who most frequently and devoutly converses with Jehovah on his mercy-seat, through Jesus Christ, on the Lord's day, will commune most with him during the week, will most profitably observe the Sabbath, and be most thoroughly furnished for every good word and work. He will not only enter into rest here on earth, but will daily become conformed to that better world, where there remaineth a Sabbath of rest to the people of God. We must all admit that the sanctification of the Sabbath is an important part of practical religion. The cause of piety declines where the Sabbath is not remembered to be kept holy. But in what does the sanctification of the Lord's day chiefly consist? We have seen that it is in observing the day in our own dwellings. This secures the performance of all its public duties. In a pre-eminent sense, the Sabbath which God approves, is the _Sabbath at home_. No separate argument is then called for to prove that it is the duty of all to promote the observance of the Lord's day. It is the common cause of every government, of good morals, and of religion. Let no one excuse himself from contributing his part to this good work. We may each aid much in the sanctification of the Sabbath. It is in the power of the humblest member of your family to do more to render the Lord's day profitable, than he can now believe. On the other hand, an entire household may be thrown into confusion, and compelled to waste the day, through the perversity or neglect only of a child. You have a servant in your employ, to whom certain duties are assigned, but he neglects on Saturday evening to perform them. Through his omission, the whole family may be thrown into confusion on Sabbath morning. One boy of five years old, who _will_ play in the street, can disturb all the families of the neighbourhood. A noisy child of three years can effectually prevent, either parent, brother, or sister, from profitably spending the Lord's day. A little girl was dressed for church,--she disobeyed her mother, and went out to play; her clothes were soon unfit to be seen in a worshipping assembly. The mother was fretted and distressed, and the child had to remain at home, while the parent went to meeting, not in a state of mind to be much profited by the exercises of the sanctuary. The sound of one axe, in cleaving as much wood as will make one fire, can annoy, throughout the fourth part of a village, all who wish to keep holy the Sabbath day, and to see it hallowed by others. What is more common, in cases of slight indisposition, or than in the commencement of disease, to omit sending for the physician until Sabbath, thus compelling him to spend holy time, not in ministering to the relief of actual distress, but in sacrificing to sheer neglect, and contempt of the command of God, what ought to be _his_ privilege, with all other men,--the undisturbed enjoyment, both public and private, of the Lord's day. Thus we may in different ways, and various degrees, contribute to the sanctification of the Sabbath, or compel others, however reluctant, to spend the day without profit. This power is vested in no one exclusively, but in each member in particular. Each may contribute to the sanctification of the Sabbath; each may prevent the entire family from enjoying and profitably spending the day. Would we do good both to ourselves and others? Let us _every one_ remember the Sabbath day _at home_, to keep it holy. By this we may be aided in judging of our preparation for heaven. The Sabbath on earth is a type of the Sabbath above. If we find no delight in the holy duties of the day, as now enjoyed, and feel the sacrifice of sanctifying it to be too great, how can we hope to enjoy it in the purity and holiness of heaven? But if it is our delight, and its sacred retirement from worldly cares refreshes the soul, we can discern some degree of conformity to the inheritance of the saints in light. It is our duty and our privilege, then, to comfort ourselves with the expectation of yet enjoying an eternal Sabbath, where there are no temptations to profane it, no despisers of religion to interfere with its quiet sanctification--no ignorance, through which we may fall into sin, and thus impair our enjoyment,--no disinclination of mind to hold communion with God,--where no weariness in duty, or languor in devotion can make the season appear too long. THE END. 
4040	----	Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. THE PEDLER OF DUST STICKS BY MRS. FOLLEN With illustrations by Billings CONTENTS THE PEDLER OF DUST STICKS. "ON THE GRAVE OF THE GOOD, GREAT MAN." THE MIGHTY DEEDS OF ABC. WHAT DAY IS IT? THE CHILD AT HER MOTHER'S GRAVE. EVENING PRAYER. THE SABBATH IS HERE. TO A BUTTERFLY. THE PEDLER OF DUST STICKS. One day I went to visit a friend, a lady, who came from Hamburg, in Germany. I was much pleased with a portrait which was hanging up in her room, and I was particularly struck by the ornamental drawings with which the picture was surrounded. They consisted of whip handles, canes, piano keys, mouth-pieces for wind instruments, all sorts of umbrellas, and many more things, of every sort, made of cane and whalebone. The arrangement was so ingenious, the designs so fanciful, and the execution so good, that nothing could be prettier. But what of course was of the most importance, was the face and head that they were meant to ornament. "What a benevolent, what a beautiful face!" I said. "Who is it?" "My father," the lady replied; "and he is more beautiful than the picture, and he is still more kind than he looks there." "What is the meaning of all these bits of bamboo and these little canes, so fancifully arranged around the picture?" I asked. "These little sticks," she replied, "tell the story of my father's success, and of the beginning of his greatness. He began his noble and honorable life as a little Pedler of Dust Sticks." "Pedler of Dust Sticks?" "Yes," she said; "if you would like to hear his history, I will relate it." I replied that nothing could please me better; that I considered the life of a good, great man the most beautiful of all stories. "I will tell it to you just as it was; and you may, if you please, repeat it for the benefit of any one." When I had returned home I wrote the story down, just as I remembered it, as she had given me leave to do. The Christian name of our hero was Henry, and so we will call him. His parents lived in Hamburg, in Germany. They were very poor. His father was a cabinet maker, with a very small business. Henry was the second of eight children. As soon as he was eight years old, his father, in order to raise a few more shillings to support his family, sent him into the streets to sell little pieces of ratan, which the people there use to beat the dust out of their clothes. Henry got about a cent and a half apiece for the sticks. If he sold a great number of these little sticks, he was allowed, as a reward, to go to an evening school, where he could learn to read. This was a great pleasure to him; but he wanted also to learn to write. For this, however, something extra was to be paid, and Henry was very anxious to earn more, that he might have this advantage. There is a fine public walk in Hamburg, where the fashionable people go, in good weather, to see and be seen; and where the young men go to wait upon and see the ladies. These gentlemen were fond of having little canes in their hands, to play with, to switch their boots with, and to show the young ladies how gracefully they could move their arms; and sometimes to write names in the sand. So little Henry thought of making some very pretty canes, and selling them to these young beaux. He soaked his canes for a long time in warm water, and bent the tops round for a handle, and then ornamented them with his penknife, and made them really very pretty. Then he went to the public walk, and when he saw a young man walking alone, he went up to him, and with a sweet and pleasant voice, he would say, "Will you buy a pretty cane, sir? Six cents apiece." Almost every gentleman took one of the canes. With the money he got for his canes he was able to pay for lessons in writing. This made him very happy, for it was the reward of his own industry and ingenuity. As soon as Henry was old enough, his father employed him to carry home the work to customers. The boy had such a beautiful countenance, was so intelligent, and had such a pleasant manner, that many of the customers wanted to have him come and live with them, and promised to take good care of him; but Henry always said, "No, I prefer staying with my father, and helping him." Every day the little fellow would take his bundle of dust sticks and little canes in a box he had for the purpose, and walk up and down the streets, offering them to every one who he thought would buy them. And happy enough was he when he sold them all and brought home the money to his poor father, who found it so hard to support a large family. All the evenings when Henry was not so happy as to go to school, he worked as long as he could keep his eyes open. He was very skilful, and made his canes so pretty, and he was such a good boy, that he made many friends, and almost always found a good market for his sticks. The poor fellow was very anxious to get money. Often his father's customers gave him a few pence. Once he came near risking his life to obtain a small sum. He was very strong and active, and excelled in all the common exercises of boys; such as running, jumping, &c. One day he got up on the top of a very high baggage wagon, and called to the boys below, and asked them how many pence they would give him if he would jump off of it to the ground. Some one offered two. "Two are too few to risk my life for," he replied. They then promised to double the number; and he was upon the point of jumping, when he felt a smart slap on his back. "That's what you shall have for risking your life for a few pence," said his father, who, unobserved by Henry, had heard what had passed, and climbed up the wagon just in time to save Henry from perhaps breaking his neck, or at least some of his limbs. Henry was very fond of skating, but he had no skates. One day, when the weather and ice were fine, he went to see the skaters. He had only a few pence in his pocket, and he offered them for the use of a pair of skates for a little while; but the person who had skates to let could get more for them, and so he refused poor Henry. There was near by, at the time, a man whose profession was gambling; and he said to Henry, "I will show you a way by which you can double and triple your money, if you will come with me." Henry followed him to a little booth, in which was a table and some chairs; and there the man taught him a gambling game, by which, in a few minutes, he won a dollar. Henry was going away with his money, thinking with delight of the pleasure he should have in skating, and also of the money that would be left to carry home to his poor father, when the gambler said to him, "You foolish boy, why won't you play longer, and double your dollar? You may as well have two or three dollars as one." Henry played again, and lost not only what he had won, but the few pence he had when he came upon the ice. Henry was fortunate enough that day, after this occurrence, to sell a few pretty canes, and so had some money to carry to his father; but still he went home with a heavy heart, for he knew that he had done a very foolish thing. He had learned, by this most fortunate ill luck, what gambling was; and he made a resolution then, which he faithfully kept through his whole after life, never to allow any poverty, any temptation whatever, to induce him to gamble. Henry continually improved in his manufacture of canes, and he often succeeded in getting money enough to pay for his writing lessons. There were Jews in the city, who sold canes as he did, and he would often make an exchange with them; even if they insisted upon having two or three of his for one of theirs; he would consent to the bargain, when he could get from them a pretty cane; and then he would carry it home, and imitate it, so that his canes were much admired; and the little fellow gained customers and friends too every day. The bad boys in the city he would have nothing to do with; he treated them civilly, but he did not play with them, nor have them for his friends. He could not take pleasure in their society. Henry was a great lover of nature. He spent much of his life out in the open air, under the blue skies; and he did not fail to notice what a grand and beautiful roof there was over his head. The clouds by day, the stars by night, were a continued delight to him. The warm sunshine in winter, and the cool shade of the trees in summer, he enjoyed more than many a rich boy does the splendid furniture and pictures in his father's house. One beautiful summer afternoon he was going, with his canes on his shoulder, through the public promenade on the banks of the little bay around which was the public walk. The waves looked so blue, and the air was so delicious, that he was resolved he would treat himself to a row upon the sparkling waters; so he hired a little boat, and then got some long branches from the trees on the shore, and stuck them all around the edges of his boat, and tied them together by their tops, so as to make an arbor in the boat, and got in and rowed himself about, whistling all the tunes he knew for his music, to his heart's content. He went alone, for he had no companion that he liked; and he would have none other. At last what should he see but his father, walking on the bank. Henry knew that his father would be very angry with him, for he was a severe man; but he determined to bear his punishment, let it be what it would, patiently; for he knew, when he went, that his father would not like it; and yet he said, in telling this story to a friend, "I was so happy, and this pleasure was so innocent, that I could not feel as sorry as I ought to feel." Henry bore his punishment like a brave boy. It was too bad for the poor fellow to have no pleasures; nothing but work all the time. This was especially hard for him, for no one loved amusement better than he. He relished a piece of fun exceedingly. In the city of Hamburg there was a place where young girls were always to be seen with flowers in their hands to sell. He had observed that the Jews, of whom he bought the pretty canes, were often rude to them, and he determined to punish some of them. There was one who wore a wig, with a long queue to it. The girls had their long hair braided and left hanging down behind. One day this man was sitting in this flower market, with his back to one of these girls, and Henry took the opportunity, and before either knew what he did, he tied the two queues together; the young girl happened not to like her seat very well, and got up rather suddenly to change it, and off she went with the Jew's wig dangling behind her, much to the amusement of the spectators, and especially of Henry, who saw and enjoyed it all highly, though pretending to be very busy selling a cane to a gentleman, who joined in the general laugh. Lucky it was for Henry that the Jew did not discover who it was that had played this roguish trick. Henry saw how difficult it was for his father to support the family, and was very earnest to get money in any honest way. One day the managers of a theatre hired him to take part in a play, where they wanted to make a crowd. He was pleased at the thought of making some money to carry home; but when he went behind the scenes, and saw all that the actors did, he ran away and left them, caring not for the money, so he could but get away from such disgusting things. Thus did Henry live, working from early morning till night, going to school with a little of the money he had earned, when his father would allow him to take it; keeping himself unstained by the wickedness that he often saw and heard in his walks through the city; observing every thing worth noticing, and making friends every where by his honesty, purity, and kind-heartedness. At this time the French were in Hamburg, provisions were dearer than ever, and Henry's father, with all the help he received from his son, could not support his family in the city. One day he called Henry, and said, "Do you think you could support your mother and younger sister and brother in some other place?" Henry replied directly, "Yes, dear father, I can; at least, I will try." So his father sent him with this part of his family to a cheaper place, about fifty miles inland. He gave him five dollars and his blessing, as they parted. Here was our friend Henry in a strange town, a small place, with no friends there, but just fifteen years old, and with his mother, and brother, and sister depending upon him for their daily bread. Henry was a brave boy; so he did not allow himself to fear. With his five dollars he secured small, cheap rooms for a week, bought some bread and milk for the family, and after a good night's sleep set out, the next morning, to obtain work. He went into the street, and after a while read upon a sign, "Furniture varnished." He went into the shop and asked for work. The man asked him if he could varnish well. Henry replied, "Yes, I can." He was very skilful, and he had varnished his canes sometimes, and he felt sure he could. "You came from Hamburg?" "Yes, sir." "Perhaps you know some new and better way than we have of varnishing?" "What method do you take?" asked Henry. The man told him. Here Henry's habit of observing was the means of his getting bread for himself and family. He had noticed a new and better way that varnishers employed in Hamburg, and though he had not tried it with his own hands, he was sure he could imitate what he had seen. He said that he knew a better way. The man engaged him for a week, and was much pleased with his work; he did not want him long, but gave him a recommendation when he parted with him. After this Henry went to the baker of whom he had bought bread for the family, and asked him for employment. The baker told him he wanted his house painted, and asked him if he could do it. "Yes," said Henry, "I can do it well, I know." The baker liked him very much, and gave him the job without any hesitation. The baker's apprentices had noticed what a good fellow Henry was, and would often give him, in addition to the loaf for the family, some nice cakes to carry home. So he was, as you see, now working among friends. Henry had never painted before; but he had observed painters at their work, and he did it well. He soon became known to all the people of the town, and made many friends. He was never idle. He made canes when he had no other work. He varnished, or painted, or did anything that he could get to do, and supported the whole family comfortably for two years. At the end of this time, his father sent to him to bring the family home to Hamburg. Henry left without a single debt, and in the place of the five dollars carried home ten to his father. I must tell you of a piece of Henry's economy and self-denial. He grew very fast, and his boots became too small for him. While he was getting every thing comfortable for others, he denied himself a pair of new boots, and used to oil the old ones every time he put them on, so as to be able to get his feet into them, and never complained of the pain. Our hero--for I am sure he was a true hero--was now seventeen. The French had left Hamburg when he returned, but it was still necessary to have a body of soldiers to protect it, and he joined a corps of young men. They made him distributer of provisions. His office was one given only to those known to be honest and worthy of confidence. The citizens began even then to show their respect for the little pedler of dust sticks and canes. We shall see what he was yet to be. Henry returned to cane-making, to which he and his father soon added work in whalebone. They were pretty successful, but, as they had very little money to purchase stock and tools, could not make a great business. It was about this time that Henry became acquainted with one who was to form the greatest happiness of his life. There was a poor girl in Hamburg who was a seamstress, and who not only supported herself but her mother by her needle. Her name was Agatha. She had a lovely face and very engaging manners; her character was still more lovely than her face; and she had only these to recommend her, for she was very poor. Henry became strongly attached to her, and she soon returned his love. Henry's father and mother did not approve of this connection because the girl was very poor; and as their son was so handsome and agreeable, had now many friends, and was very capable, they thought that he might marry the daughter of some rich man perhaps, and so get some money. But, although Henry was ready to jump from a wagon twenty feet high for a few pence, and would walk the streets of the city twelve hours a day for money, he would not so disgrace himself as to give that most precious of all things, his heart, for gold, and so he told his parents. "I shall," said he, "marry my dear Agatha, or I shall never marry any one. She is good, and gentle, and beautiful; and if I live, she shall have money enough too, for I can and will earn it for her. I shall work harder and better now than I ever did before, because I shall be working for one whom I love so dearly." Henry's parents saw that it was in vain to oppose him, that it would only drive him out of the house, and that they should thus lose him and his work too; so they gave the matter up. From this time Henry worked more industriously, if possible, than ever. He did the same for his father as before; but he contrived also to find some hours in which he might work for himself exclusively. All that he earned at these times he devoted to his new and dearest friend. He would purchase with the money he earned some pretty or comfortable thing to wear that she wished and had denied herself; or sometimes he would get some nice thing for her to eat; for she had delicate health, and but little appetite. After work was done in the shop, and the family had gone to bed, Henry used to hasten to his dear Agatha, and pass two or three happy hours with her. They both had fine voices, and many an hour they would sing together, till they would forget the weariness of the day, and the fact that they had nothing but their love for each other to bless themselves with in this world. They worked harder, they denied themselves more than ever, they were more careful to be wise and good for the sake of each other; and so their love made them better as well as happier. At last, when Henry was nineteen, his parents consented to his marrying and bringing his wife home to their house. As there was no money to spare, they could only have a very quiet wedding. They were married with-out any parade or expense, and never were two excellent beings happier than they. The young wife made herself very useful in her husband's family. She worked very hard,--her husband thought harder than she ought to work,--and he was anxious to be independent, and have a house of his own, where he could take more care of her, and prevent her injuring herself by labor. There was some money due his father in Bremen; and, after living at home a year or so, Henry took his wife with him, and went there to collect the money. There they lived two years, and there they suffered severely. They were very poor, and they met with misfortunes. At last Henry's wife and their two children took the small-pox; but they all lived and got well, and their love for each other was only made more perfect by suffering; for they learned patience and fortitude, and were confirmed in what they both before believed, that they could bear any trouble if they could share it together. At the end of the two years, they returned to Hamburg. During their absence, Henry's mother had died, and his father had married a woman who had a little property. Henry now felt no longer anxious about his family, and set up for himself in the cane and whalebone business. He took a small house, just big enough for his family, and they invited his wife's sister to live with them and assist in the work. Henry was very desirous of setting up a cane and whalebone factory, and doing business upon a larger scale, but had not the means to obtain suitable machinery. He wanted a large boiler, but it was too expensive, and he knew not what to do. Here his excellent character was the cause of his success. A gentleman who had known him from the time when he used to carry about dust sticks to sell came forward and offered him a large boiler, and told him that he might pay for it whenever he could conveniently. Henry accepted the kind offer, and commenced business directly. His old customers all came to him, and in a short time he was able to hire a man to help him. It was not long before he wanted another, and then another man. Every thing prospered with him. He made money fast. His business grew larger constantly. He did all sorts of work in whalebone and cane; now he added ivory, umbrella sticks, keys for pianos, canes, and whip handles, and made all sorts of things in which these materials are used. Henry was so well acquainted with his business, so industrious and faithful, was known to be so honest and just in his dealings, and was so kind in his treatment of his workmen, that all who wanted what he could supply went to him, and his success was very great. He grew rich. It was not a great while before he was able to build a large factory in the neighborhood of the city. The little pedler of dust sticks was now one of the richest men in Hamburg. He had four hundred men in his employ, had a large house in town, and another in the country. He was thus able to indulge his love for nature. After a hard day's work, he could come home and enjoy the beautiful sunset, and look at the moon and stars in the evening, and hear the nightingale sing, and join with his Agatha in the song of praise to the Giver of all good things. Henry did not, because he was rich, lead a lazy and selfish life. He still worked with his own hands, and thus taught his workmen himself, and made their work more easy and agreeable by his presence as well as by his instructions. He was continually making improvements in his business, inventing new things, and so keeping up his reputation. He exported large quantities of the articles made in his factory. Every year his business grew larger, and he gained still higher reputation. Henry's fellow-citizens offered him some of the highest offices of honor and profit which the city had to bestow; but he refused them. The only ones he accepted were those that gave no pay. He was one of the overseers of the poor, and was always one of the first to aid, in any way he could, plans for the benefit of his suffering fellow-beings. He gave money himself generously, but was very anxious not to have his charities made public. He was one of the directors of the first railroad from Hamburg. He engaged all his workmen with reference to their character as well as their capacity, and no one of them ever left him. He was their best benefactor and friend. So lived this excellent man, as happy as he was good and useful, for sixteen years with his dear wife; they had seven living children; but, as I before told you, she had very delicate health, and it was the will of God that these two loving hearts should be separated in this world, as we hope, to meet in heaven to part no more. After sixteen years of perfect love and joy, he parted with his dear Agatha. Henry bore his sorrow meekly and patiently. He did not speak, he could not weep; but life was never again the same thing to him; he never parted for a moment with the memory of his loving and dearly-beloved wife. He was then only thirty-five years old, but he never married again; and when urged to take another wife, he always replied, "I cannot marry again." He felt that he was married forever to his dear Agatha. I must relate to you some of the beautiful things Henry's daughter told me about her mother. Agatha had such a refined and beautiful taste and manner that though, from her parents' poverty, she had not had the benefit of an education, yet it was a common saying of the many who knew her, that she would have graced a court. She never said or did any thing that was not delicate and beautiful. Her dress, even when they were very poor, had never a hole nor a spot. She never allowed any rude or vulgar thing to be said in her presence without expressing her displeasure. She was one of nature's nobility. She lived and moved in beauty as well as in goodness. When she found she was dying, she asked her husband to leave the room, and then asked a friend who was with her to pray silently, for she would not distress her husband; and so she passed away without a groan, calmly and sweetly, before he returned. An immense procession of the people followed her to the grave, to express their admiration of her character and their sorrow for her early death. There were in Hamburg, at that time, two large churches, afterwards burned down at the great fire, which had chimes of bells in their towers. These bells played their solemn tones only when some person lamented by the whole city died. These bells were rung at the funeral of Agatha. Henry, ever after his separation from her, would go, at the anniversary of her birth and death, and take all his children and grand-children with him to her grave. They carried wreaths and bouquets of flowers, and laid them there; and he would sit down with them and relate some anecdote about their mother. It is a custom with the people of Germany to strew flowers on the graves of their friends. The burying ground was not far from the street, and often unfeeling boys would steal these sacred flowers; but not one was ever stolen from the grave of Agatha. The sister of whom we have before spoken, whom we will call also by her Christian name, Catharine, loved her sister with the most devoted love, and when Agatha was dying, promised her that she would be a mother to her children, and never leave them till they were able to take care of themselves. She kept her word. She refused many offers of marriage, which she might have been disposed to accept, and was a true mother to her sister's children, till they were all either married or old enough not to want her care. Then, at the age of fifty, aunt Catharine married a widower, who had three children, who wanted her care. From the time Henry lost his dear wife, he devoted himself not only more than ever to his children, but also to the good of his workmen. He sought in duty, in good works, for strength to bear his heavy sorrow; so that death might not divide him from her he loved, but that he might be fitting himself for an eternal union with her in heaven. Henry never forgot that he had been obliged to work hard for a living himself, and he also remembered what had been his greatest trials in his days of poverty. He determined to save his workmen from these sufferings as much as possible. He recollected and still felt the evils of a want of education. He could never forget how with longing eyes he had used to look at books, and what a joy it had been to him to go to school; and he resolved that his children should be well instructed. The garden of knowledge, that was so tempting to him, and that he was not allowed to enter, he resolved should be open to them. He gave them the best instructors he could find, and took care that they should be taught every thing that would be useful to them--the modern languages, music, drawing, history, &c. Henry had found the blessing of being able to labor skilfully with his hands; so he insisted that all his children should learn how to work with their own hands. "My daughters," he said, "in order to be good housewives, must know how every thing ought to be done, and be able to do it. If they are poor, this will save them from much misery, and secure them comfort and respectability." He insisted that those of his sons who engaged in his business should work with the workmen, wear the same dress, and do just as they did; so that the boys might be independent of circumstances, and have the security of a good living, come what would. Thus every one of his children had the advantages which belong to poverty as well as those of riches. Their father said to them, that if they knew what work was, they would know what to require of those who labored for them; that they would have more feeling for laborers, and more respect for them. Henry was truly the friend of his workmen. He gave them time enough to go to school. He encouraged temperance; he had a weak kind of beer, made of herbs, for them to drink, so that they might not desire spirit. He gave them, once a year, a handsome dinner, at which he presided himself. He encouraged them to read, and helped them to obtain books. He had a singing master, and took care that every one who had a voice should be taught to sing. He bought a pianoforte for them, and had it put in a room in the factory, where any one, who had time, and wished to play, could go and play upon it; and he gave them a music teacher. He did every thing he could to make their life beautiful and happy. He induced them to save a small sum every week from their wages, as a fund to be used when any one died, or was sick, or was married, or wanted particular aid beyond what his wages afforded. Henry's factory was the abode of industry, temperance, and cheerfulness. The workmen all loved him like a brother. It was his great object to show them that labor was an honorable thing, and to make laborers as happy as he thought they ought to be. Henry was much interested in all that related to the United States of America; and he was very angry at our slavery. He felt that slavery brought labor into discredit, and his heart ached for the poor slaves, who are cut off from all knowledge, all improvement. Nothing excited in him such a deep indignation, nothing awaked such abhorrence in his heart, as the thought of a man's receiving the services of another without making adequate compensation; or the idea of any man exercising tyranny over his brother man. Henry's workmen were the happiest and best in Hamburg. They loved their employer with their whole hearts; there was nothing they would not do for him. When his factory had been established twenty-five years, the workmen determined to have a jubilee on the occasion, and to hold it on his birthday. They kept their intention a secret from him till the day arrived; but they were obliged to tell his children, who, they knew, would wish to make arrangements for receiving them in such a way as their father would approve of, if he knew of it. It was summer time; and on Henry's birthday, at seven o'clock in the morning, (for they knew their friend was an early riser,) a strain of grand and beautiful music broke the stillness of the early hour, and a long procession of five hundred men was seen to wind around the house. The musicians, playing upon their fine wind instruments, and dressed very gayly, came first. Then came those of his workmen who had been with him twenty-five years; then his clerks and book-keepers; then followed his other workmen, and then all the boys who were employed in his factory. All wore black coats, with a green bow pinned on the breast. They drew up in a circle on the lawn before his house; and five old men, who had been with him for twenty-five years, stood in the centre, holding something which was wrapped up in the Hamburg flag. Now all the musical instruments played a solemn, religious hymn. Immediately after, the five hundred voices joined in singing it. Never did a truer music rise to heaven than this; it was the music of grateful, happy hearts. When the hymn was sung, the book-keeper came forward and made an address to his master, in the name of them all. In this address they told Henry how happy he had made them; how much good he had done them; how sensible they were of his kindness to them, and how full of gratitude their hearts were towards him. They expressed the hope that they should live with him all their lives. Now the old men advanced, and uncovered what they bore in their hands. It was a fine portrait of their benefactor, in a splendid frame. The picture was surrounded on the margin by fine drawings, arranged in a tasteful manner, of all the various articles which were made in his factory, views of his warehouses in Hamburg, of the factory in which they worked, of his house in town, of the one in the country where they then were, and of the old exchange, where he used to stand when he sold canes and dust sticks. Then the old men presented to him the picture, saying only a few words of respectful affection. The good man shed tears. He could not speak at first. At last he said, that this was the first time in his life that he regretted that he could not speak in public; that if he had ever done any thing for them, that day more than repaid him for all. They then gave him three cheers. They now sang a German national tune, to words which had been written for the occasion. The children, who, as I told you, knew what was to happen, had prepared a breakfast for these five hundred of their father's friends. All the tables were spread in the garden behind the house, and Henry desired that all the store rooms should be opened, and that nothing should be spared. After an excellent breakfast, at which the children of the good man waited, the procession marched around to the fine music; and the workmen, having enjoyed themselves all the morning to their hearts' content, went to partake of a dinner which the family had provided for them in a large farm house. Here they sang, and laughed, and told stories till about eight o'clock in the evening, when they returned by railway to Hamburg, in a special train which the railroad directors ordered, free of expense, out of respect for Henry. The railroad was behind Henry's house, and as the workmen passed, they waved their hats and cheered him and the family till they were out of hearing. The picture I had so much admired was a copy of this very picture which the workmen had presented. The original was hung up in Henry's drawing room, as his most valuable possession. No wonder his daughter felt proud of that picture, and loved to show her copy of it to her friends. Near it hung a likeness of his dear Agatha. She was very beautiful. It was a pleasant thing to hear the daughter talk of her father and mother. Thus did Henry live a useful, honorable, and happy life--the natural result of his industry, perseverance, uprightness, and true benevolence. Like Ben Adhem, he had shown his love to God by his love to man. One of Henry's sons had come to this country, to set up a cane and whalebone factory in New York. The father had aided him as far as he thought best, but urged him to depend as far as possible upon his own industry and ability. This son followed his father's example, and was very successful; but was obliged, on account of the bad effects of our climate upon his health, to return to his native land. The father, who was anxious to visit the United States, and wished much to see his daughter again, who was particularly dear to him, determined to come, for a while, in his son's place. Henry thought also that his health, which began to fail, might be benefited by a sea voyage. One reason why he wished much to visit America was, that he might see, with his own eyes, the position of the laboring classes in the Free States. Of the Slave States he never could think with patience. His daughter told me that the only time when she had seen her father lose his self-command, was when a gentleman, just returned from the West Indies, had defended slavery, and had said that the negroes were only fit to be slaves. Henry's anger was irrepressible, and, although it was at his own table, and he was remarkable for his hospitality and politeness, he could not help showing his indignation. Nothing could exceed his delight at what he saw in this part of our country. The appearance every where of prosperity and comfort; the cheerful look of our mechanics and laborers; their activity; the freedom and joyousness of their manners,--all spoke to him of a free, prosperous, and happy people. He was only, for any long time, in New York, where his son's factory was, and in Massachusetts, where his daughter lived. Unhappily his health did not improve. On the contrary, it failed almost daily. Still he enjoyed himself much. While in this part of the country, he took many drives around the environs of Boston with his daughter, and expressed the greatest delight at the aspect of the country, particularly at the appearance of the houses of the farmers and mechanics. He found, when in the city of New York, that attention to business was too much for his strength; so he resolved to travel. "Nature," he said, "will cure me; I will go to Niagara." He brought with him, as a companion and nurse, his youngest son, a lad of fifteen years of age. The boy went every where with him. When they arrived at Niagara, Henry would not go to the Falls with any other visitors; he only allowed his son to accompany him. When he first saw this glorious wonder of our western world, he fell on his knees and wept; he could not contain his emotion. He was a true worshipper of Nature, and he courted her healing influences; but he only found still greater peace and health of mind; his bodily health did not return. His daughter, who, like all Germans, held a festival every Christmas, wrote to urge him to pass his Christmas with her at her Massachusetts home; he was then in New York. He replied that he was too ill to bear the journey at that season. The pleasure of the thought of her Christmas evening was gone; but she determined to make it as pleasant as she could to her husband and children, though her thoughts and her heart were with her sick father. In the morning, however, a telegraphic message arrived from her father, saying he would be with them at eight o'clock in the evening. With the Germans, the whole family make presents to each other, no matter how trifling; but some little present every one receives. Henry's little granddaughter was dressed in a style as fairy-like as possible, and presented her grandfather with a basket of such fruits as the season would allow of, as the most appropriate present for a lover of Nature. A very happy evening the good man had with his children. He was forced to return to New York. It was not many months after that his daughter heard that he was very ill at Oyster Bay, where he had gone to a water cure establishment. She went immediately to him, and remained with him, nursing him, and reading to him, till he was better, though not well. During this period, when he was able to bear the fatigue, his daughter drove him in a gig round the neighboring country; and she told me that such was his interest in the laborers, that he would never pass one without stopping, and asking him questions about his mode of working, &c. He could not speak English; but she was the interpreter. At last he insisted upon his daughter's returning to her family. There was something so solemn, so repressed, in his manner, when he took leave of her, that she was afterwards convinced that he knew he should never see her again; but he said not a word of the kind. His health grew worse; his strength failed daily; and he determined to return to Germany, so as to die in his native land. He wrote to his daughter, to ask her, as a proof of her love for him, not to come to say farewell. She was ill at the time, and submitted with a sad and aching heart. She had seen her dear, excellent father for the last time. He lived to arrive in Hamburg. His workmen, when they heard of his arrival, went to the vessel, and bore him in their arms to his country house, where he died eight days afterwards. He showed his strong and deep love of nature in these his last hours; for when he was so weak as to be apparently unconscious of the presence of those he loved, he begged to be carried into his garden, that he might hear the birds sing, and look upon his flowers once more. When he knew he was breathing his last, he said to his children who were standing around his bed, "Be useful, and love one another." His death was considered a public calamity in Hamburg. His workmen felt that they had lost their benefactor and brother. His children knew that life could never give them another such friend. His body was placed in the great hall, in his country house, and surrounded by orange trees in full bloom. Flowers he loved to the very last; and flowers shed their perfume over the mortal garment of his great and beautiful soul. One after another, his workmen and his other friends came and looked at his sweet and noble countenance, and took a last farewell. In Germany, when a distinguished man dies, he is carried to the grave on an elevated hearse decorated with black feathers and all the trappings of woe; but Henry's workmen insisted upon carrying their benefactor and friend to his last home in their arms. Their sorrowing hearts were the truest mourning, the only pomp and circumstance worthy of the occasion; and their streaming eyes were the modest and unobtrusive, but most deeply affecting, pageant of that day. All the inhabitants followed him, with mourning in their hearts. Remembering Henry's love for flowers, his fellow-citizens made arches of flowers in three places for his mortal remains to pass under, as the most appropriate testimonial of their love. The public officers all followed him to the grave, and the military paid him appropriate honors. Three different addresses were delivered over his body by distinguished speakers, and then hundreds and hundreds of voices joined in singing a hymn to his praise written by a friend. Henry made such an arrangement of his business, and left such directions about it, as to make sure that his workmen should, if they wished it, have employment in his factory for ten years to come. He divided his property equally amongst his children, and bequeathed to them all his charities, which were not few, saying that he knew that his children would do as he had done, and that these duties would be sacred with them. Such a life needs no comment. Its eloquence, its immortal power, is its truth, its reality. Among the many beautiful things that were written in honor of Henry, I have translated these as peculiarly simple and just. "ON THE GRAVE OF THE GOOD, GREAT MAN." "Henry--, a MAN in the best sense of the term, strong in body and soul, with a heart full of the noblest purposes, which he carried out into action, without show and with a child-like mind." "To the great Giver of all things thankful for the smallest gift. To his family a devoted father. To his friends a faithful friend. To the state a useful citizen. To the poor a benefactor. To the dying a worthy example." "Why was this power broken in the prime of life? Why were the wings of this diligent spirit clipped? Why were stopped the beatings of this heart, which beat for all created things? Sad questions, which can only find an answer in the assurance that all which God wills for us is good." "Peace be with thee, friend and brother! We can never forget thee." Around their father's grave the children stand, And mourning friends are shedding bitter tears; With sorrowing faces men are standing here, Whose tender love did bear him in their arms In sickness once, and now once more in death, Him who protector, friend, and helper was; And many eyes whose tears he wiped away, Are weeping at his narrow house to-day. When the frail vestments of the soul Are hidden in the tomb, what then remains to man? The memory of his deeds is ours. O sacred death, then, like the flowers of spring, Many good deeds are brought to light. Blessed and full of love, good children And true friends stand at his grave, And there with truth loudly declare, "A noble soul has gone to heaven; Rich seed has borne celestial fruit; His whole day's work now in God is done." Thus speak we now over thy grave, Our friend, now glorified and living in our hearts. A lasting monument thou thyself hast built In every heart which thy great worth has known. Yes, more than marble or than brass, our love Shall honor thee, who dwellest in our hearts. These tears, which pure love consecrates to thee, Thou noble man, whom God has called away From work which He himself has blessed,-- These grateful tears shall fall upon the tomb That hides the earthly garment of our friend. O, let us ne'er forget the firm and earnest mind Which bore him swiftly onward in his course; How from a slender twig he built a bridge O'er which he safely hastened to the work Which youthful hope and courage planned. Think how the circle of his love embraced His children and his children's children, all, His highest joy their happiness and good. Think how he labored for the good of all, Supporter, benefactor, faithful friend! How with his wise and powerful mind He served and blessed his native place! His works remain to speak his praise. How did his generous, noble spirit glow With joy at all the good and beautiful Which time and human skill brought forth! He ever did the standard gladly gain Which light, and truth, and justice raised; And when his noble efforts seemed to fail, Found ever in his pure and quiet breast a sweet repose. We give to-day thy dust to dust. Thy spirit, thy true being, is with us. Thou art not dead; thou art already risen. Loved friend, thou livest, and thou watchest o'er us still. Be dry our tears; be hushed our sighs; Victor o'er death, our friend still lives; Takes his reward from the Great Master's band. Deep night has passed away. On him Eternal morning breaks. He, From the dark chamber of the grave, Goes to the light of the All-holy One. Weep, weep no more! Look up with hope on high! There does he dwell. He liveth too on earth. The Master who has called him hence to higher work, To-morrow will call us--perhaps to-day. Then shall we see him once again. He, who went home From earth in weakness and in pain, Is risen there in everlasting joy and strength. Till then we here resolve to live like him, That we, like him, may die religious, true, and free. When any little boy reads this true story of a good, great man, I would have him remember that Henry began to be a good, great man when only eight years old. Henry began by being industrious, patient, and good humored, so that people liked to buy his sticks. Then he was faithful and true to his father, and would not leave him, not even for the sake of gaining some advantages. Henry used all his faculties, and, by making his pretty canes, he got money, not to buy sugar plums, but to pay for instruction. When he did wrong, he took his punishment cheerfully, and did not commit the same fault again. All the virtues which finally made him a good, great man he began to practise when he was only eight years of age, when he was really a little boy. I would have every little boy and girl who reads this story try to imitate him. If he is poor, let him learn to do something useful, so to earn money that may help his father and mother, and perhaps be the means of giving him a better education. If he is rich, let him seek to get knowledge, and let him remember those who have not as much as he has, like little Eva, who taught Uncle Tom. Let him remember that the selfish and the lazy cannot be truly happy; that selfishness is its own punishment in the end; that no children and no men are truly happy or truly good who do not obey the words of the noble-minded Henry on his death-bed-- "Be useful, and love one another" THE MIGHTY DEEDS OF ABC. A LETTER TO A LITTLE BOY FROM HIS AUNT. MY DEAR FRANK: I was much pleased with your writing me a letter. If you were to take a piece of paper, and do up some sugar plums in it, and send it to me, I should eat up the sugar plums, and then there would be nothing left but the piece of white paper; but if you take a piece of paper, and mark on it with a pen some crooked and some straight, some round and some long strokes, they tell me, though they make no noise, that you love me, and they seem just like little messengers from you to me, all with something to tell me of my dear little Frank. Besides, after these messengers have spoken once, there they stand ready to speak again as soon as I only look at them, and tell me the same pleasant story the second time that they did the first. If I were to put them away in a safe place for forty years, and then look at them, when you were beginning to be an old man, these crooked scratches of your pen would still talk to me of little Frank, as he was when I held him in my lap, and we used to laugh, and talk, and tell stories together. Think, then, my dear Frank, how much better it is to be able to fill a letter with these curious strokes to send to a friend than to have bushels of sugar plums to send him. Did you ever think what curious things these little letters are? You know the great Bible that you love to look at so much, and to hear father read from. All the wonderful things related in it are told by twenty-six little letters. It is they that tell you of the creation of the world, of the beautiful garden called Eden in which Adam and Eve lived; they tell you the sad story of their disobedience to God, and of their being turned out of paradise. Then they tell you all about the Israelites, or Jews, as we call them. In the same book, these twenty-six letters place themselves a little differently, and tell you the story of Joseph and his brethren that you were so much pleased with when your father read it to you, and that of David and Goliath, that you like so much. Then these same wonderful story tellers relate to you the beautiful history of Daniel; of that courageous, good man who chose rather to be torn to pieces by wild beasts than not to pray every day to God, and thank Him for His goodness; and how God preserved him in the lion's den. The wonderful story of Elijah they also tell you, and many others. But last and most interesting and wonderful of all, my dear little Frank, is the story of Jesus Christ and his friends called the apostles. These little letters have never told such a beautiful and affecting story as they tell you of that pure and spotless Being who was sent by God to teach us our duty, and to show us the way to be happy forever. No being ever existed on this earth who showed so much love and tenderness, so much goodness and humility, so much wisdom and power as did Jesus Christ. There, in that best of books, stand these little messengers, as I call them, still speaking the very words of the blessed Saviour; ready to comfort the poor and sorrowful; to teach patience and hope to the sick; to instruct the ignorant; to reprove the wicked; and inviting little children to come to his arms and receive his blessing. Do you not want to know all that they can tell you of this great and good Being? I could write you, my dear Frank, a letter so long that I fear you would be tired of reading it, about these same wonderful little figures; but now I dare say that you will think more of them yourself, and that the little book with the corners rolled up which contains your ABC will be more respectable in your sight. Perhaps you will, after thinking some time, ask who invented these wonderful letters; and then, if you do really want to know, your father will tell you all that is known about it, or, at least, all that you can remember and understand. When you are old enough to read about the history of letters, you will find books which will make you laugh by telling you that there was a time when, if you wanted to write "a man," you would have been obliged to draw the picture of a man; and, as there was then no paper like ours, you would have been obliged to take a piece of wood or bark to make the drawing on; and so the same with every thing else. So you see, if you and I had lived at that time, and you had written to me about your dog, your pleasant ride and the other things that were in your letter, you would perhaps have been obliged to get a man to bring me the letter, it would have been so clumsy, instead of bringing it yourself, folded neatly in your nice little pocket book; and as for my letter, only think how much room it would have taken up. You will say, "Why, aunt, letters are not only better than sugar plums, they are better than dollars." Indeed they are, my dear Frank. The knowledge that they can give, the blessing they can bestow, is better and more valuable than all the silver and gold in the whole world; for they can teach us what is wisdom and happiness; they can teach us the will of God. I love to think, too, of what pleasant messages they can carry backwards and forwards between friends, and that in a few hours these curious, handy little things will appear before you, my dear little Frank, and tell you what I have just been thinking about, and that I always love you, and am ever Your affectionate AUNT. WHAT DAY IS IT? It is so still that, although it is midday, one can hear the sound of the soft spring shower as it falls on the young and tender leaves. The crowing of the cock pierces the ear with his shrill note, as in the silent watches of the night. The song of the wren is so undisturbed, it is so full, and is heard so distinctly that it only reminds one, with its sweet music, how unusual is the silence; it does indeed seem but the "echo of tranquillity." There are many people in the streets, but they have a different appearance from usual; they are all dressed in their holiday garments; they look happy, but they are very calm and serious. The gentle shower does not seem to disturb them; it only affords an opportunity for reciprocal kindness. I see a venerable-looking old lady who from infirmity is obliged to walk very slowly. She is supported by a bright, rosy-cheeked girl who holds up the umbrella, and keeps back her light and joyous step to the slow time of her aged companion. An elegant-looking woman is leading, with great care and tenderness, a little girl through the mud. The lady puts her umbrella so low that the rain is kept from the child, but it falls upon her own gay clothes. The little girl must be that lady's daughter. But see! they stop at the door of yonder miserable-looking house. The lady cannot live there, surely. She gives the child a little book. The little girl enters alone. I see her now in the house. She is the daughter of the poor, sick woman who lives there. There is a trembling old man tottering along: he looks a little like Tipsy David, as the boys call him; but he has on a clean and respectable suit of black, and a weed on his hat; he is quite sober, but it is David; and one of the very boys that have laughed at and abused him when intoxicated, now respectfully offers him an umbrella. A fashionable young man is gallanting a lady with the greatest care and most delicate respect; she must be his sister, or the lady he is engaged to marry, he is so careful to shelter her from every drop of rain. No, I see her enter her door; it is my good neighbor, Miss--; she is one of the excellent of the earth, but she is poor, old and forsaken by all but the few who seek for those whom others forget. She has no beauty, no celebrity; there is no eclat in noticing her; there are those who will even laugh at him for his attention to her. Stranger than all, there are two men, violent opponents in religion and politics, walking arm in arm with each other. The Calvinist extends to him whom he considers his erring brother a kindness as if to a dear friend; for the Universalist is sick, and the Calvinist tries to protect him from the shower while exposing himself; see, he takes off his own cloak and puts it on him. What does all this mean? Whence is this holy stillness? What day is it? It is the Lord's day! All these people are returning from the house of prayer. It is this thought that makes the laughing girl restrain her gayety, and teach her steps to keep time with her infirm old friend. The sinful old man abstains from his vicious habit out of reverence for this holy day; he has lost his son too; and sorrow and the weight of an evil conscience have driven him to the mercy seat; and they who despised his drunkenness respect his misery. The lady who led the little child so tenderly to its poor mother's door is a teacher in the Sunday school; the book she gave tells of the wisdom and goodness of God; she has awakened in her little pupil's soul that princi-pie which shall never die, and taught her to be a messenger of peace and joy to her poor, sick mother. It is the influence of this blessed day that makes the usually frivolous and thoughtless prefer a work of charity to the gratification of vanity. It is the Sabbath day, with its calm and elevated duties and holy repose, that subdues animosity, lays the restless spirit of vanity, checks habitual vice, and awakens all the charities and sweet courtesies of life. This is the true rest of the Sabbath; the rest from vanity, from contention, from sin. This is the true preaching, the practice of Christian duties, the performance of works of love, the exercise of the holiest affections of our nature. This is the true service of God; doing good to His human family. This is the true knowledge of Him, "that we love one another." Doubtless the instructions from the pulpit do, in many instances, enlighten the ignorant, quicken the languid and the cold-hearted, and alarm or persuade the sinful and the erring; and, on this account alone, the day is a great good, and should be welcomed. However, were any one doubtful of the blessing that attends it, I would not reason with him, but I would, if it were possible, lead him, when he knew not what day it was, where he could witness, as I have, such a scene as I have just described; and when he exclaimed, "What does it all mean? What day is it?" I would simply answer, "It is the Sabbath day." THE CHILD AT HER MOTHER'S GRAVE. [TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.] In that little room of thine Sweet sleep has come to thee. Ah, mother! dearest mother mine! O, call me to that room of thine; O, shut it not from me. I would so gladly be with thee, And be thy child again. 'Tis cold and stormy here with me. Tis warm, and O, so still with thee. O, let me, let me in. Thou took'st me gladly once with thee, So gladly held'st my hand! O, see! thou hast forsaken me. Take me, this time, again with thee Into the heavenly land. EVENING PRAYER. Thou, from whom we never part; Thou, whose love is every where; Thou, who seest every heart, Listen to our evening prayer. Father, fill our souls with love; Love unfailing, full, and free; Love no injury can move; Love that ever rests on thee. Heavenly Father, through the night Keep us safe from every ill. Cheerful as the morning light, May we wake to do thy will. THE SABBATH IS HERE. [FROM KRUMACHER.] The Sabbath is here. It is sent us from Heaven. Rest, rest, toilsome life. Be silent all strife. Let us stop on our way, And give thanks, and pray To Him who all things has given. The Sabbath is here. To the fields let us go. How fresh and how fair, In the still morning air, The bright golden grain Waves over the plain! It is God who doth all this bestow. The Sabbath is here. On this blessed morn, No tired ox moans, No creaking wheel groans. At rest is the plough. No noise is heard now, Save the sound of the rustling corn. The Sabbath is here. Our seed we have sown, In hope and in faith. The Father He saith Amen! Be it so! Behold the corn grow! Rejoicing his goodness we'll own. The Sabbath is here. His love we will sing, Who sendeth the rain Upon the young grain. Full soon all around The sickle will sound, And home the bright sheaves we will bring The Sabbath is here. In hope and in love, We sow in the dust, While humbly we trust, Up yonder, shall grow The seed which we sow, And bloom a bright garland above. TO A BUTTERFLY. [FREE TRANSLATION FROM HERDER.] Airy, lovely, heavenly thing! Butterfly with quivering wing! Hovering, in thy transient hour, Over every bush and flower, Feasting upon flowers and dew, Thyself a brilliant blossom too. Who, with rosy fingers fine, Purpled o'er those wings of thine? Was it some sylph whose tender care Spangled thy robes so fine and fair, And wove them of the morning air? I feel thy little throbbing heart. Thou fear'st, e'en now, death's bitter smart Fly little spirit, fly away! Be free and joyful, thy short day! Image, thou dost seem to me, Of that which I may, one day, be, When I shall drop this robe of earth, And wake into a spirit's birth. 
22098	----	THE SEVENTH DAY SABBATH, A PERPETUAL SIGN, FROM THE BEGINNING TO THE ENTERING INTO THE GATES OF THE HOLY CITY, ACCORDING TO THE COMMANDMENT. BY JOSEPH BATES: "Brethren, I write no new commandment unto you, but an old commandment which ye had from the _beginning_. The old commandment is the WORD which ye have heard from the _beginning_." _John_ ii: 7. "In the _beginning_ God created the heaven and the earth." Gen. i: 1. "And God blessed the seventh day, and rested from all his work." ii: 3. "Blessed are they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life and enter in," &c. _Rev._ xxii: 14. NEW-BEDFORD PRESS OF BENJAMIN LINDSEY 1846. [1]PREFACE. TO THE LITTLE FLOCK. "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." "Six days work may be done, but the _seventh_ is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work." This commandment I conceive to be as binding now as it ever was, and will be to the entering into the "gates of the city." Rev. xxii: 14. I understand that the _seventh_ day Sabbath is not the _least_ one, among the ALL things that are to be restored before the second advent of Jesus Christ, seeing that the Imperial and Papal power of Rome, since the days of the Apostles, have changed the seventh day Sabbath to the first day of the week! Twenty days before God re-enacted and wrote the commandments with his finger on tables of stone, he required his people to keep the Sabbath. Exo. xvi: 27, 30. Here he calls the Sabbath "_my commandments and my laws_." Now the SAVIOR has given his comments on the commandments. See Matt. xxii: 35, 40. "On these two (precepts) hang ALL the law and the prophets." Then it would be impossible for the Sabbath to be left out. A question was asked, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? Says Jesus, "If thou wilt enter into life keep the commandments"--xix. Here he quotes five from the tables of stone. If he did not mean all the rest, then he deceived the lawyer in the two first precepts, love to God and love to man. See also Matt. v: 17, 19, 21, 27, 33. PAUL comments thus. "The law is holy, and the commandments holy, just and good." "Circumcision and uncircumcision is nothing but the keeping the commandments of God." "All the law is fulfilled in one word: thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." JOHN says, "the old commandment is the WORD from the beginning."--2, 7. Gen. ii: 3. "He carries us from thence into the gates of the city." Rev. xxii: 14. Here he has particular reference to the Sabbath. JAMES calls it the _perfect_, royal law of liberty, which we are to be doers of, and be judged by. Take out the fourth commandment and the law is imperfect, and we shall fail in one point. The uncompromising advocate for present truth, which feeds and nourishes the little flock in whatever country or place, is the restorer of all things; one man like John the Baptist, cannot discharge this duty to every kindred, nation, tongue and people, and still remain in one place. The truth is what we want. _Fairhaven_, August 1846. JOSEPH BATES. [3]THE SABBATH. FIRST QUESTION IS, WHEN WAS THE SABBATH INSTITUTED? Those who are in the habit of reading the Scriptures just as they find them, and of understanding them according to the established rules of interpretation, will never be at a loss to understand so plain a passage as the following: "And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it; because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made." Gen. ii: 3. Moses, when referring to it, says to the children of Israel, "This is that which the Lord hath _said_, to-morrow is the REST of _the_ holy Sabbath unto the Lord." Exod. xvi: 23. Then we understand that God established the seventh day Sabbath in Paradise, on the very day when he rested from all his work, and not one week, nor one year, nor two thousand five hundred and fourteen years afterwards, as some would have it. Is it not plain that the Sabbath was instituted to commemorate the stupendous work of creation, and designed by God to be celebrated by his worshipers as a weekly Sabbath, in the same manner as the Israelites were commanded to celebrate the Passover, from the very night of their deliverance till the resurrection of Jesus from the dead; or as we, as a nation, annually celebrate our national independence; or as type answers to antetype, so we believe this must run down, to the "keeping of the Sabbath to the people of God" in the immortal state. It is argued by some, that because no mention is made of the Sabbath from its institution in Paradise till the falling of the manna in the wilderness, mentioned in Exo. xvi: 15, that it was therefore _here_ instituted for the Jews, but [4]we think there is bible argument sufficient to sustain the reply of Jesus to the Pharisees, "that the Sabbath was made for MAN and not man for the Sabbath." If it was made for any one exclusively it must have been for Adam, the father of us all, two thousand years before Abraham (who is claimed as the father of the Jews) was born. John says, the old commandment was from the beginning--1: ii: 7. There is pretty strong inference that the antideluvians measured time by weeks from the account given by Noah, when the waters of the deluge began to subside. He "sent out a dove which soon returned." At the end of _seven_ days he sent her out again; and at the end of _seven_ days more, he sent her out a third time. Now why this preference for the number _seven_? why not five or ten days, or any other number? Can it be supposed that his fixing on upon _seven_ was accidental? How much more natural to conclude that it was in obedience to the authority of God, as expressed in the 2d chap. of Gen. A similar division of time is incidentally mentioned in Gen. xxix:--"fulfill her _week_ and we will give thee this also; and Jacob did so and fulfilled her _week_." Now the word _week_ is every where used in Scripture as we use it; it never means more nor less than _seven_ days (except as symbols of years) and one of them was in all other cases the Sabbath. But now suppose there had been an entire silence on the subject of the Sabbath for this twenty-five hundred years, would that be sufficient evidence that there was none. If so, we have the same evidence that there was no Sabbath from the reign of Joshua till the reign of David, four hundred and six years, as no mention is made of it in the history of that period. But who can be persuaded that Samuel and the pious Judges of Israel did not regard the Sabbath. What does God say of Abraham? that he "obeyed my voice, and kept my charge, my _commandments_, my _statutes_ and my _laws_." (See what he calls them in Exo. xvi: 27, 30.) This, of course, includes the whole. Then Abraham reverenced God's Sabbath. Once more, there is no mention of the circumcision from the days of Joshua till the days of Jeremiah, a period of more than eight hundred years. Will it be believed that Samuel and David, and all those pious worthies with the whole Jewish nation, neglected that essential seal of the covenant for eight hundred years? It cannot be admitted for a moment. How [5]then can any one suppose from the alleged silence of the sacred history that Adam, Enoch, Noah and Abraham, kept no Sabbath, because the fact was not stated? If we turn to Jer. ix: 25, 26, we find that they had not neglected this right of circumcision, only they had not circumcised their hearts; so that the proof is clear, that silence respecting the keeping any positive command of God, is no evidence that it is not in full force. Again, if the Sabbath was not instituted in Paradise, why did Moses mention it in connection with the creation of the world? Why not reserve this fact for two or three thousand years in his history, until the manna fell in the wilderness, (see Exo. xvi: 23) and then state that the seventh day Sabbath commenced, as _some_ will have it? I answer, for the very best of reasons, that it did not commence there. Let us examine the text. "And it came to pass, that on the sixth day they gathered twice as much bread as on any preceding day, and _all the rulers of the congregation came and told Moses_. And he said unto them this is that which the Lord hath said, _to-morrow is the rest of the holy Sabbath_, bake that which ye will bake, &c. &c." If this had been the establishing of the holy Sabbath and Moses had said to-morrow _shall be_ the Sabbath, then would it have been clear; but no, he speaks as familiarly about it as we do when we say that to-morrow is the Sabbath, showing conclusively that it was known before, or how could the people have known that they must gather two day's manna on Friday the sixth day, unless they had had some previous knowledge of the Sabbath? for Moses had already taught them not to "leave any of it until the morning"--v. 19. The 20th verse shows that the Sabbath had not yet come since their receiving the manna, because it spoiled and "bred worms by the next morning;" whereas, on the Sabbath morning it was found sweet and eatible--24th v. This was the thirtieth day after leaving Egypt (1st v.) and twenty days before it was given on Sinai. The weekly Sabbath then was appointed before this or before the days of Moses. Where was it then? Answer, in the second chapter of Genesis and no where else; and the same week on which the manna fell, the weekly Sabbath was revived among or with God's chosen people. Grotius tells us "that the memory of the creation's being performed in seven days, was preserved not only among the Greeks and Italians, but among the Celts and Indians." Other [6]writers say Assyrians, Egyptians, Arabians, Britons and Germans, all of whom divide their time into weeks. Philo says "the Sabbath is not peculiar to any one people or country, but is common to all the world." Josephus states "that there is no city either of Greeks or barbarians or any _other nation_, where the religion of the Sabbath is not known." But as they, like the great mass of God's professed people in christendom, paid little or no heed to what God had said about the particular day, (except the Jews, and a few others) they (as we are informed in history) adopted peculiar days to suit themselves, viz: the christian nations chose to obey the Pope of Rome, who changed the _seventh_ day Sabbath to the first day, and call it the holy Sabbath; the Persians selected Monday; the Grecians Tuesday; the Assyrians Wednesday; the Egyptians Thursday; the Turks Friday, and the Jews the seventh day, Saturday, as God had commanded. Three standing miracles a week, for about forty years annually, ought to perpetuate the Sabbath. 1st, double the quantity of manna on the sixth day; 2d, none on the seventh; 3d, did not spoil on the seventh day. If it does not matter which day you keep holy to the Lord, then all these nations are right. Now reflect one moment on this, and then open your bible and read the commandment of the God of all these nations! "REMEMBER! (what you have been taught before) _the Sabbath day to keep it holy_;" (which day is it Lord?) "_the_ SEVENTH _is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy man servant nor thy maid servant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger, that is within thy gates_." Who is the stranger? (Gentiles.) Now the reason for it will carry us back again to Paradise. "_For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested on the_ SEVENTH; _wherefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it_." "Wherefore the children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath, to observe the _Sabbath_ throughout their generations for a _perpetual covenant_; it is a SIGN between me and the children of Israel _forever_." (Why is it Lord?) "_For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the_ SEVENTH _day he rested and was refreshed_." Exo. xx and xxxi. Which day now will you choose? O, says the reader, the seventh if I knew which of the days it was. If you don't know, why are you so sure that the _first_ day is right? O, [7]because the history of the world has settled that, and this is the most we can know. Very well then, does not the _seventh_ come the day before the eighth? If we have not got the days of the week right now, it is not likely that we ever shall. God does not require of us any more than what we know; by that we shall be judged. Luke xxiii: 55, 56. Once more: think you that the spirit of God ever directed Moses when he was giving the history of the creation of the world, to write that he (God) "blessed the _seventh_ day and sanctified it, because that in it he had rested from all his work," unless he meant it to be dated from that very day? Why, this is as clear to the unbiassed mind as it is that God created man the sixth day. Would it not be the height of absurdity to attempt to prove that God only intended Adam should be created at some future period, or that the creation of the heavens and earth was not in the beginning, but some twenty-five hundred years afterward? All this would be as cogent reasoning as it would be to argue that God did not intend this day of _rest_ should commence until about twenty-five hundred years afterwards. (The word Sabbath signifies rest.) It follows then irresistibly, that the weekly Sabbath was not made for the Jews only, (but as Jesus says, for 'man') for the Jews had no existence until more than two thousand years after it was established. President Humphrey in his essays on the Sabbath says, "That he (God) instituted it when he rested from all his work, on the _seventh_ day of the first week, and gave it primarily to our first parents, and through them to all their posterity; that the observance of it was enjoined upon the children of Israel soon after they left Egypt, not in the form of a new enactment, but as an ancient institution which was far from being forgotten, though it had doubtless been greatly neglected under the cruel domination of their heathen masters; that it was reenacted with great pomp and solemnity, and written in stone by the finger of God at Sinai; that the sacred institution then took the form of a statute, with explicit prohibitions and requirements, and has never been repealed or altered since; that it can never expire of itself, because it has no limitation." In Deut. vii: 6-8, God gives his reasons for selecting the Jews to keep his covenant in preference to any other nation; only seventy at first--x: 22. God calls it his [8]"Sabbath," and refers us right back to the creation for proof. "For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth and sea, and all that in them is, and rested on the _seventh_," &c. Here then we stand fixed by the immutable law of God, and the word of Jesus, that "the Sabbath was made for man!" Paul says, "there is no respect of persons with God." Rom. ii: 11. Isaiah shows us plainly that the Jew is not the only one to be blessed for keeping the Sabbath. He says "Blessed is the _man_ (are not the Gentiles men) that keepeth the Sabbath from polluting it." "Also the sons of the stranger, (who are these if they are not Gentiles?) every one that keepeth the Sabbath from polluting it, (does he mean me? yes, every Gentile in the universe, or else he respects persons) even them will I bring to my holy mountain and make them joyful in my house of prayer; for my house shall be called an house of prayer for _all_ people." Isa. lvi: 2, 6, 7. If this promise is not to the Gentile as well as the Jew, then "_the_ house of prayer for all people" is no promise to the Gentile. Now we ask, if God has ever abrogated the law of the Sabbath? If he has it can easily be found. We undertake to say without fear of contradiction, he has not made any such record in the bible; but to the contrary, he calls it a perpetual covenant, a "sign between me and the children of Israel forever," for the reason that he rested on the seventh day. Exo. xxxi: 16, 17. Says one, has not the ceremonial law been annulled and nailed to the cross? Yes, but what of that? Why then the Sabbath must be abolished, for Paul says so! Where? Why in Cols. 2d chapter, and xiv. Romans. How can you think that God ever inspired Paul to say that the _seventh_ day Sabbath was made void or nailed to the cross at the crucifixion, when he never intended any such change; if he did, he certainly would have deceived the inhabitants of Jerusalem, in the promise which he made them about two thousand four hundred and forty-six years ago! Turn now to Jer. xvii: 25, and tell me if he did not promise the inhabitants of Jerusalem that their city should remain forever if they would hallow the Sabbath day. Now suppose the inhabitants of Jerusalem had entered into this agreement, and entailed it upon their posterity (because you see it could not have been fulfilled unless it had continued from generation to generation,) to keep the Sabbath holy, would not God have been bound to let Jerusalem remain forever? You say [9]yes. Well, then, I ask you to shew how he could have kept that promise inviolate if he intended in less than six hundred and fifty years to change this seventh day Sabbath, and call the first day of the week the Sabbath, or abolish it altogether? I say, therefore, if there has been any change one way or the other in the Sabbath, since that promise, it would be impossible to understand any other promise in the Bible; how much more reasonable to believe God than man. If men will allow themselves to believe the monstrous absurdity that FOREVER, as in this promise, ended at the resurrection, then they can easily believe that the Sabbath was changed from the _seventh_ to the first day of the week. Or if they choose the other extreme, abolished until the people of God should awake to be clothed on with immortality. Heb. iv: 9. Now does it not appear plain that the Sabbath is from God, and that it is coeval and co-extensive (as is the institution of marriage) with the world. That it is without limitation; that there is not one thus saith the Lord that it ever was or ever will be abolished, in time or eternity.--See Exod. xxxi: 16, 17; and Isa. lxvi: 22, 24; Heb. iv: 4, 9. But let us return and look at the subject as we have commenced in the light of Paul's argument to the Romans and Collossians, for here is where all writers on this subject, for the change or the overthrow of the _seventh_ day Sabbath attempt to draw their strong arguments. The second question then, is this: HAS THE SABBATH BEEN ABOLISHED SINCE THE SEVENTH DAY OF CREATION? IF SO, WHEN, AND WHERE IS THE PROOF? The text already referred to, is in Rom. xiv: 5, 6.--"One man esteemeth one day above another; another esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be persuaded in his own mind. He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord; and he that regardeth not the day to the Lord, he doth not regard it." Does the apostle here mean to say, that under the new or Christian dispensation it is a matter of indifference which day of the week is kept as a Sabbath, or whether any Sabbath at all is kept? Was that institution which the people of God had been commanded to call a delight, the holy of the Lord, honorable, now to be esteemed of so carnal a nature as to be ranked among [10]the things which Jesus "took out of the way, nailing it to his cross." If this be true, then has Jesus, in the same manner, abolished the eight last verses in the fifty-eighth of Isaiah, and the 2d, 6th and 7th verses of the 56th chapter have no reference to the Gentile since the crucifixion. O Lord help us rightly to understand and divide thy word. But is it not evident from the four first verses in the same chapter of Romans, that Paul is speaking of feast days; giving them again in substance the decrees which had been given by the Apostles in their first conference, in A. D. 51, held at Jerusalem. See Acts xv: 19. James proposes their letter to the Gentiles should be "that they abstain from pollution of Idols, and from fornication, and from things strangled, and from blood;" to which the conference all agreed. Now please read their unanimous _decrees_ (xvi: 4,) from twenty-three to thirty verses. "For it seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us, to lay upon you no greater burden than these necessary things." "That ye abstain from meats offered to Idols, and from blood, and from things strangled, and from fornication, from which if ye keep yourselves ye shall do well." Reading along to the 13th of the next chapter, we find Paul establishing the Churches with these decrees; (see 4, 5,) and at Philippi he holds his meeting, (not in the Jews Synagogue) but at the river's side, on the _Sabbath_ day. A little from this it is said that Paul is in Thesalonica preaching on the Sabbath days. Luke says this was his _manner_! What was it? Why, to preach on the Sabbath days, (not 1st days.) Observe here was three Sabbaths in succession. xvii: 2. A little while from this Paul locates himself in Corinth, and there preaches to the Jews and Greeks (or Gentiles) a year and six months _every Sabbath_. Now this must have been seventy-eight in succession. xviii: 4, 11. Does this look like abolishing the Sabbath day? Has anything been said about the 1st day yet? No, we shall speak of that by and by. Before this he was in Antioch. "And when the Jews were gone out of the synagogue the GENTILES besought that these words might be preached to them the next Sabbath. And the next Sabbath day came almost the whole city together to hear the word of God." xiii: 42, 44. Here is proof that the Gentiles kept the Sabbath. Now I wish to place the other strong text which is so strangely adhered to for abolishing or changing this [11]Sabbath along side of this, that we may understand his meaning. "Blotting out the hand-writing of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross." "Let no man therefore judge you in meat, or in drink, or in respect of a holy day, or of the new moon, or of the Sabbath days." Coll. ii: 14, 16. Now here is one of the strong arguments adhered to by all those who say the seventh day Sabbath was abolished at the crucifixion of our Lord; while on the other hand by the great mass of the Christian world, (so called,) the seventh day Sabbath ceased here, and in less than forty-eight hours the change was made to the first day of the week. Now remember Paul's manner, (before stated) itinerating from city to city and nation to nation, always preaching to Jews and Gentiles on the seventh day Sabbath, (for there is no other day called the Lord's Sabbath in the Bible.) Now if the Apostle did mean to include the Sabbath of the Lord God with the Jewish feasts and Sabbaths in the text, then the course he took to do so, was the strangest imaginable. His _manner_ always was, as recorded, with the exception of one night, to preach on the very day that he was laboring to abolish. If you will look at the date in your bibles, you will learn this same apostle had been laboring in this way as a special messenger to the Gentiles, between twenty and thirty years since (as you say) the Sabbath was changed or abolished, and yet never uttered one word with respect to any other day in the week to be set apart as a holy day or Sabbath. I understand all the arguments about his laboring in the Jewish Synagogue on their Sabbath, because they were open for worship on that day, &c., but he did not always preach in their Synagogues. He says that he preached the Kingdom of God, and labored in his own hired house for two years. He also established a daily meeting for disputation in the school of Tyranus. Acts xix: 9. Again he says, I have "kept _back_ NOTHING that was PROFITABLE _unto you_. (Now if the Sabbath had been changed or abolished, would it not have been _profitable_ to have told them so?) and have taught you publicly, and from house to house." "For I have not shunned to declare unto you ALL the council of God."--Acts xx: 20, 27. Then it is clear that he taught them by example that the Sabbath of the Lord God was not abolished. Luke says it was the _custom_ (or manner) of Christ [12]to teach in the synagogues on the Sabbath day. iv: 16, 31. Mark says, "And when the Sabbath day was come he began to teach in their synagogue." Mark vi: 2.--Now if Jesus was about to abolish or change this Sabbath, (which belonged to the first code, the moral law, and not the ceremonial, the second code, which was to be nailed to his cross, or rather, as said the angel Gabriel to Daniel, ix: 27, "he (Christ) in the midst of the week shall cause the _sacrifice_ and _oblation_ to cease," meaning that the Jewish sacrifices and offerings would cease at his death.) Jesus did not attend to any of the ceremonies of the Jews except the passover and the feasts of tabernacles. Why did he say, "Think not I am come to destroy the _law_ or the prophets? I am not come to destroy but fulfill. One jot or one title shall in no wise pass from the _law_ 'till all be fulfilled." "Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments" &c. Did he mean the ten commandments? Yes; for he immediately points out the third, not to take God's name in vain; sixth and seventh, not to kill nor to commit adultery, and styles them the _least_. Then the others, which include the fourth, of course were greater than these. Matt. v: 17, 19, 21, 27, 23, and were not to be broken nor pass away. Then the Sabbath stands unchanged. Almost every writer which I have read on the subject of abolishing or changing the seventh day Sabbath, call it the Jewish Sabbath, hence their difficulty. How can it be the Jewish Sabbath when it was established two thousand years before there was a Jew on the face of the earth, and certainly twenty-five hundred before it was embodied in the decalogue, or re-enacted and written in stone by the finger of God at Sinai. God called this HIS _Sabbath_, and Jesus says it was made for man, (not particularly for the Jews.) "Well," says one, "what is the meaning of the texts which you have quoted, where it speaks of Sabbaths?"--Answer: These are the Jewish Sabbaths! which belong to them as a nation and are connected with their feasts. God by Hosea makes this distinction, and says, "I will also cause all _her_ mirth to cease, her feast days, her new moons and _her_ Sabbaths, and all her solemn feasts." These then belong to the text quoted, and not God's Sabbath. Do you ask for the proof? See xxiii Levit. 4. "_These are the_ FEASTS _of the Lord, which ye shall proclaim in their [13]seasons_, EVERY THING UPON HIS DAY"--37th v. (May we not deviate a little? If you do it will be at your peril.) Fifteenth and sixteenth verses gives them a fifty day's Sabbath; twenty-fourth verse says: "Speak unto the children of Israel, saying in the seventh month in the first day of the month, shall ye have a _Sabbath_, a memorial of blowing of trumpets, an holy convocation." "Also on the tenth day of the seventh month there shall be a day of atonement. It shall be unto you a _Sabbath_ of rest." 27, 32. "Also on the fifteenth day of the seventh month when ye shall have gathered in the fruit of the land, ye shall keep a feast unto the Lord seven days. On the first shall be a Sabbath, and on the eighth day shall be a Sabbath. 39v. And Moses _declared_ unto the children of Israel the FEASTS of the Lord." 44v. Now here we have FOUR kinds of _Jewish_ Sabbaths, also _called_ "FEASTS _of the Lord_," to be kept annually. The first fifty days or seven weeks Sabbath ends the third month, seventh. In three months and twenty-four days more commences the second Sabbath, seventh month, first; the next, the tenth; the last the fifteenth of the month. Between the first two Sabbaths there is an interval of one hundred and twelve days; the next two, ten days, and the next, five days. Now it can be seen at a glance, that neither of these Sabbaths could be on the seventh day any oftener than other annual feast could come on that day. These then are what Hosea calls HER Sabbaths. Paul calls them HOLY DAYS, _new moons, and Sabbaths_; and this is what they are stated to be. The first day of the seventh month is a _new moon_ SABBATH, the tenth is a Sabbath of rest and Holy convocation, a day of atonement, and the fifteenth a feast of Sabbaths. Do you ask for any more evidence that these are the Jewish Sabbaths, and that God's Sabbath is separate from them? Read then what God directed Moses to write in the third verse: "Six days shall work be done, but the _seventh_ day is the Sabbath of rest, an holy convocation, ye shall do no work therein, it is the Sabbath of the LORD in all your dwellings." Now Moses has here declared from the mouth of the Lord, that these are ALL the feast of the Lord, (there is no more nor less) and every thing is to be upon _his day_, and he has clearly and definitely separated his Sabbath from the other four. And in the 28th and 29th chapters of Numbers the sacrifices [14]and offerings for each of these days are made so plain, beginning with the Sabbath, 9v, that we have only to read the following to understand. 26. xxix: 1. First day, seventh month, (new moon;) 7v, 10th day Sabbath; 12v; 15th day Sabbath, and 35v, 23d day Sabbath. And in the days of Nehemiah when Ezra had read the law to the people, viii (more than one thousand years after they were promulgated,) they bound themselves under an oath "to walk in God's law which was given _by the hand of Moses_, the servant of God." "And to observe and _do all the commandments_ of the Lord, our Lord." x: 29. And that there might be no misunderstanding about the kind of Sabbaths, they say, "If the people bring ware or any victuals on the Sabbath day to sell, that we would not buy it of them on the Sabbath or on the holy day," (31v.) but they would "charge themselves yearly with a third part of a shekel" (to pay for) "the burnt _offerings_ of the _Sabbaths_, of the _new moons_, for the _set feasts_," &c. (33v.) for the house of God, including what has already been set forth in Leviticus and Numbers. Now as their feast days commenced and ended with a Sabbath, so when their feasts ceased to be binding on them these Sabbaths must also, and all were "nailed to the cross." Now I ask if there is one particle of proof that the Sabbath of the Lord is included in these Sabbaths and feast days? Who then dare join them together or contradict the Most High God, and call HIS the _Jewish_ Sabbath. _Theirs_ was nailed to the cross when Jesus died, while the Lord's is an _everlasting_ sign a _perpetual covenant_. The Jews, as a nation, broke their covenant. Jesus and his disciples were one week (the last of the seventy) that is seven years, confirming the new covenant for another people, the Gentiles. Now I ask if this changing the subjects from Jew to Gentile made void the commandments and law of God, or in other words, abolished the fourth commandment; if so, the other nine are not binding. It cannot be that God ever intended to mislead his subjects. Let us illustrate this. Suppose that the Congress of these United States in their present emergency, should promulgate two separate codes of laws, one to be perpetual, the other temporary, to be abolished when peace was proclaimed between this country and Mexico. The time _comes_, the temporary laws are abolished; but strange to hear, a large portion of the people are now insisting upon it that because peace is proclaimed that both [15]these codes of laws are forever abolished; while another class are _strenuously_ insisting that it is only the _fourth_ law in the perpetual code that's now abolished, with the temporary and all the rest is still binding. Opposed to all these is a third class, headed by the ministers and scribes of the nation, who are writing and preaching from Maine to Florida, insisting upon it without fear of contradiction, that when peace was proclaimed this fourth law in the perpetual code was to change its date to another day; gradually, (while some of them say immediately) and thenceforward become perpetual, and the other code abolished; and yet not one of these are able to show from the proceedings of Congress that the least alteration had ever been made in the perpetual code. Thus, to me, the case stands clear that neither of the laws or ten commandments in the first code, ever has or ever can be annulled or changed while mortality is stamped on man, for the very reason that God's moral law has no limitation. Jesus then brought in a new covenant, which continued the Sabbath by writing his law upon their hearts. Paul says "written not with ink, but with the spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart." 2 Cor. iii: 3. And when writing to the Romans he shews _how_ the Gentiles are a law unto themselves. He says, they "shew the work of the law written in their hearts, their consciences always bearing them witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing or else excusing one another," (when will this be Paul) "in the day when God shall judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ according to my gospel." ii: 15, 16. How plain that this is all the change. The Jews by nature had the law given them on tables of stone, while the Gentiles had the law of commandments written on their hearts. Paul tells the Ephesians that it was "the law of commandments contained in ordinances," (ii: 15) not on tables that were nailed to the cross. If the ten commandments, first written by the finger of God on stone, and then at the second covenant on fleshy tables of the heart, are shadows, can any one tell where we shall find the substance? We are answered, in Christ. Well, hear Isaiah. He says, "that he (Christ) will magnify the law and make it honorable." lxii: 21. Again, I ask, where was the necessity and of what use were the ten commandments written on our hearts, if it was not to render perfect obedience to them. If we do not keep the day God has sanctified, then [16]we break not the least, but one of the greatest of his commandments. Still, there are many other texts relating to the law, presented by the opposite view, to show that the law respecting the Sabbath is abolished. Let us look at some of them. But it will be necessary in the first place, to make a clear distinction between what is commonly called the MORAL AND CEREMONIAL LAW. Bro. S. S. Snow, in writing on this subject about one year ago, in the Jubilee Standard, asks "by what authority this distinction is made." He says "neither our Lord or his apostles made any such distinction. When speaking of the law they never used the terms moral or ceremonial, but always spake of it as a _whole_, calling it _the_ law," and further says, "we must have a thus saith the Lord to satisfy us." So I say! I have no doubt but thousands have stopped here; indeed, it has been to me the most difficult point to settle in this whole question. Now let us come to it fairly, and we shall see that the old and new testament writers have ever kept up the distinction, although it may in some parts seem to be one code of laws. From the twentieth chapter of Exodus, where the law of the Sabbath was re-enacted, and onward, we find two distinct codes of laws. The first was written on two tables of stone with the _finger_ of God; the _second_ was taken down from his mouth and recorded by the hand of Moses in a book. Paul calls the latter carnal commandments and ordinances, (rites or _ceremonies_) which come under two heads, religious and political, and are Moses's. The first code is God's. For proof see Exo. xvi: 28, 30. "How long refuse ye to keep _my_ commandments and _my_ laws: see for that the Lord hath given you the Sabbath; and so the people rested on the Sabbath day." Also in the book of Leviticus, where the law of ceremonies is given to the levites or priests, Moses closes with these words: "_These_ are the commandments which the Lord commanded Moses for the children of Israel in Mount Sinai;" in Heb. vii: 16, 18, called carnal commandments. Again, "the Lord said unto Moses, come up to me into the Mount, and be there: and I will give thee tables of stone, and a law, and commandments which I have written." Exo. xxiv: 12. Further he calls them the ten [17]commandments--xxxiv: 28. And Moses puts them "into the ark"--xl: 20. _Now for the second code of laws._ See Deut. xxxi: 9, 10; and xxiv: 26. "And when Moses had finished writing the law, he commanded them to put _this book_ of the LAW (of ceremonies) in the side of the ark of the covenant, to be read at the end of every seven years." This is not the song of deliverance by Moses in the forty-fourth verse of the thirty-second chapter. For, eight hundred and sixty-seven years after this, in the reign of Josiah, king of Israel, the high priest found this book in "the Temple," (2 Chron. xxxiv: 14, 15) which moved all Israel. One hundred and seventy-nine years further onward, Ezra was from morning till noon reading out of this book. Neh. viii: 3; Heb. ix: 19. Paul's comments. Bro. Snow says in regard to the commandments, "The principles of moral conduct embraced in the law, was binding before the law was given, (meaning that one of course at Mt. Sinai) and is binding _now_; it is immutable and eternal! It is comprehended in one word, LOVE." If he meant, as we believe he did, to comprehend what Jesus did in the xix. and xxii. chap. Matt. 37-40, and Paul, and James, and John after him, then we ask how it is possible for him to reject from that code of laws, the only one, _the seventh day rest_, that was promulgated at the _beginning_, while at the same time the other nine, that were not written until about three thousand years afterwards, were eternally binding; without doubt, the whole ten commandments are co-eval and co-extensive with sin. Again, he says, "We readily admit, that if what is called the decalogue or ten commandments be binding on us, _we ought_ to observe the seventh day, for that was appointed by the Lord as the Sabbath day." Let us see if Jesus and his apostles do not make it binding. _First then, the distinction of the two codes by Jesus._ The Pharisees ask the Saviour why his disciples transgress the tradition of the elders? His answer is, "Why do ye transgress the commandment of God?" and he immediately cites them to the fifth commandment, Matt. xv: 25. Again, "The law and the prophets were until John; since that time the kingdom of God is preached," &c. Luke xvi: 16. Jesus was three years after this introducing the gospel of the kingdom, unwaveringly holding his meetings on the Sabbath days, (which our opponents say were now about to be _abolished_; others say changed,) and never uttering a syllable to show to the contrary, but that this was [18]and always would be the holy day for worship. Mark says when the Sabbath (the Seventh day, for there was no other,) was come, he began to teach in the Synagogue, vi: 2. Luke says, "as his _custom_ was, he went into the Synagogue and taught on the Sabbath day." iv: 16, 31. Will it be said of him as it is of Paul on like occasions, some thirty years afterwards, that he uniformly held his meetings on the Sabbath because he had no where else to preach, or that this day was the only one in the week in which the people would come out to hear him? Every bible reader knows better; witness the five thousand and the seven thousand, and the multitudes that thronged him in the streets, in the citys and towns where they listened to him; besides, he was now establishing a new dispensation, while theirs was passing away. Then he did not follow any of their customs or rites or ceremonies which he had come to abolish. I have already quoted Matt. v: 17, 18, where Jesus said he had come to fulfil the law, and immediately begins by showing them that they are not to violate one of the least of the commandments, and cites them to some--see vi: 19, 21, 27, 33. Again, he is tauntingly asked "which is the great commandment in the law: Jesus said unto him, thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the _first_ and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets." xxii: 36, 40. Here Jesus has divided the ten commandments into two parts, or as it is written on two tables of stone. The first four on the first table treat of those duties which we owe to God--the other six refers to those which we owe to man, requiring perfect obedience. Once more, "One came and said unto him, good master what good thing shall I do that I may have eternal life? He said, If thou wilt enter into life keep the commandments. Then he asked him which? He cited him to the last part of what he called the second, loving his neighbor as himself." If he had cited him to the first table, as in the xxii, quoted above, he could not have replied "_all_ these have I kept from my youth up." Why? Because he would have already been perfect, for Jesus in reply to his question, what he should do to inherit eternal life, said he must "keep the commandments." Matt. xix: 16-20. Is not the Sabbath included in these commandments? Surely [19]it is! Then how absurd to believe that Jesus, just at the close of his ministry, should teach that the way, the only way, to enter into life, was to keep the commandments, one of which was to be abolished in a few months from that time, without the least intimation from him or his Father that it was to take place. I say again, if the Sabbath is abolished, we ask those who teach it to cite us to the chapter and verse, not to the law of rites and ceremonies which are abolished, for we have already shown that the Sabbath was instituted more than twenty-five hundred years before Moses wrote the carnal ordinances or ceremonies. God said, "Abraham kept _my_ charge, _my_ commandments, _my_ statutes, and _my_ laws." Gen. xxvi: 5. This must include the Sabbath, for the Sabbath was the first law given, therefore if Abraham did not keep the Sabbath, I cannot understand what commandments, statutes and laws mean in this chapter. Jesus says, "As I have kept my Father's commandments," John xv: 10. Did he keep the commandments? Yes. Mark and Luke, before quoted--(but more of this in another place.) In John vii: 19, Jesus speaks of "Moses law," "_your law_." x: 34. Again, "_their law_." xv: 25. Here then we show that Jesus kept up a clear distinction between what God calls _my_ law and commandments and Moses law, "_their_ law," "_your_ law." Let us now look at the argument of the Apostles. Paul preaching at Antioc taught the Brethren that by Jesus Christ all who believed in him "are justified from all things, from which ye could not be justified by the _Law of Moses_." Acts xiii: 39. The Pharisees said "that it was needful to circumcise them and commend them to keep the _Law of Moses_." xv: 5. Again, when Paul had come to Jerusalem the second time, (fourteen years from the time he met the Apostles in conference where they established the decrees for the churches. See Acts xx: 19; Gal. ii: 1,) the Apostles shewed him how many thousands of Jews there were which believed and were zealous of the _law_: "And they are informed of thee, that thou teachest _all_ the Jews which are among the Gentiles to forsake _Moses_ and the _customs_." xxi: 20, 21. Any person who will carefully read the eight chapters here included, must be thoroughly convinced that the Apostle's troubles were about the law of ceremonies written and given by Moses, and nothing to do with the ten commandments. For you see a little before he comes to Jerusalem, he had been preaching at Corinth every [20]Sabbath for eighteen months. xxiii: 4, 11. And this, be it remembered, was more than twenty years after the Jewish Sabbaths and ceremonies were nailed to the cross.--And you see that Paul was the man above all the Apostles to be persecuted on account of the abolition of the Jews' law of ceremonies, for he was the "_great_ Apostle to the Gentiles:" and if the "Sabbath of the Lord our God" was to have been abolished when the Saviour died, Paul was the very man selected for that purpose. It is clear, therefore, that he did not abolish the seventh day Sabbath among the Gentiles. This same Apostle tells the Romans "that Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth." x: 4. Again, that "sin shall not have dominion over you, for ye are not under the _law_ but under grace." vi: 14. Once more: He says the Gentiles having not the _law_, are a _law_ unto themselves. Why? Because, he says in the next verse, it shows the _law_ written on their hearts. The law of ceremonies? No; that which was on tables of stone. ii: 14-16. We might quote much more which looks like embracing the whole law. Let us now look at a few texts in the same letter, which will draw a distinguishing line between the two codes of laws. Paul, in the vii ch. 9-13v. brings to view the carnal commandment, and the one unto life, and sums up his argument in these words: "Wherefore the _law_ is holy, and the commandment holy and just and good." In the 7v he quotes from the decalogue. Again, he that loveth another hath fulfilled the _law_. How? Why thou shalt not steal, nor commit adultery, nor bear false witness, nor covet, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. Therefore _love_ is the fulfilling of the law. Rom. xiii: 8, 10.--This then is what the Saviour taught the young man to do to secure "eternal life." Matt. Once more, in concluding a long argument on the law in Rom. iii: 31, he closes with this language: "Do we then make void the law through faith? God forbid ye, _we establish_ the _law_."--What _law_ is here established? not the law of rites and ceremonies. What then, for Paul means some _law_. It can be no other than what he calls the law of "life," of "love," the ten commandments. How could even that be established twenty-nine years after the crucifixion, if one of the _greatest_ commandments had been abolished out of the code, that is the Sabbath. Paul's letter to the Corinthians teaches that "circumcision is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing but the _keeping_ [21]of the commandments of God." vii: 19. Again, in his epistle to the Galatians, his phraseology is somewhat changed, but the argument is to the same point, although some passages read as though every vestage of _law_ was swept by the board when Jesus hung upon the cross. For instance, such as the following: "But that no man is justified by the _law_ in the sight of God it is evident, for the just shall live by faith, and the LAW is not of faith, but the man that doeth them shall live by them." "Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the _law_, being made a curse for us." "But before faith came we were kept under the _law_, shut up unto the faith which should afterwards be revealed." "Wherefore the law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ that we might be justified by faith, but after that faith has come we are no longer under a schoolmaster." Gal. iii: 11-13, 23-25. Again: "For as many as are of the works of the _law_ are under the curse." 10v. Now are we to understand from these texts that whosoever continueth in the _law_ is cursed, and that the law, _the whole law_, was abolished when Christ came as our schoolmaster, he being the "end of the law?" Rom. x: 4. If so, how is it possible for any man, even Paul himself, to be saved. But we do not believe that Paul taught these brethren any different doctrine than what has already been shown in the Acts, Romans, and Corinthians, and also the Eph., Phil., Col., and Heb. If he did not mean the law written by the hand of Moses, distinguishing it from the _law_ of the ten commandments, written by the finger of God on tables of stone, then pray tell me if you can, what he means (in the closing of this argument,) by saying, "For _all_ the LAW is FULFILLED in one word, even this: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." v: 14. Surely he is quoting the Saviour's words in Matt. xxii: 39, relative to the commandment of the Lord our God. To his son Timothy he says: "Now the end of the commandment is charity," (love) meaning of course the _last_ part of the ten commandments. In vi: 2, he says: "Bear ye one anothers burdens and so fulfil the _law_ of Christ." Does this differ from the _law_ God? Yes, a little, for it is the new commandment, (some say the eleventh.) See John xiii: 34. "A new commandment I give unto you, (what is it, Lord?) that ye love one another." And also xx: 12. The other is to love our neighbor as ourself. John says: "And this commandment have we from him (Christ,) that he who loveth God loveth his brother [22]also." John iv: 21, and ii: 8-11. In his letter to the Ephesians he says: "Having abolished in his flesh the _enmity_ even the law of commandments contained in ordinances." ii: 15. See the reverse. vi: 2. To the Colossians he asks, "Why as though living in the world, are ye subject to ordinances where all are to perish with their using?" And says: "Touch not, taste not, handle not." (Does Paul here teach us to forsake the ordinances of God, instituted by the Saviour--Baptism and the Lord's Supper? Yes, just as clearly as he does to forsake the whole law.) When writing to the Hebrews more than thirty years after the crucifixion, he calls these ordinances _carnal_, imposed on them (the Jews) until Christ our High Priest should come. ix: 10, 11. He also calls the law of commandments _carnal_, too, and says: "For there is verily a disannulling of the commandments going before, for the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did." vii: 16, 18-19. "For when Moses had spoken _every precept_ to all the people according to the _law_ he took the blood of calves and of goats, with water, and scarlet wool, and hyssop, and sprinkled both the BOOK and all the people." ix: 19. Now we see clearly that the book of the law of Moses from which Paul has been quoting through the whole before mentioned epistles, is as distinctly separate from the tables of stone (or fleshly table of the heart,) as they were when deposited in the Ark thirty-three hundred years ago. Therefore we think that here is clear proof that he has kept up the distinction between the "handwriting of ordinances" (meaning Moses' own handwriting in his book,) and the "ten commandments written by the finger of God." Let us now turn to the Epistle of James, said to be written more than twenty-five years after the law of ceremonies were nailed to the cross, and see if he does not teach us distinctly, that we are bound to keep the commandments given on tables of stone. He says, "the man that shall be a DOER of the _perfect law_ of liberty shall be blessed in his deed." i: 25. "If ye fulfill the royal _law_ according to the scripture, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself, ye do well." Why? Because the Saviour in quoting from the commandments, in answer to the Ruler, what he should do to inherit eternal life, taught the same doctrine. Matt. xix: 19. Further: "For whosoever shall keep the whole _law_ and yet offend in one point, shall be guilty of _all_." In the next verse he quotes from the [23]ten commandments again, namely, Adultery and Murder, (what the Saviour in the fifth chapter of Matt. calls the least, that is the smallest commandment,) and says if we commit them we become transgressors of the _law_. Of what _law_? Next verse says the _law_ of _liberty_ by which we are to be "judged." ii: 8, 11. Now will it not be admitted by every reasonable person that James has included the whole of the ten commandments, by calling them the perfect law of liberty. 2d, "The royal _law_ according to the scripture," and 3d, "the _law of liberty_ by which we are to be judged." (Royal relates to imperial and kingly.) Perfect means COMPLETE, _entire_, the WHOLE. Then I understand James thus: This _law_ emanated from the king, the Supreme Ruler of the universe, and to be perfect must be just what it was when it came from his hand, and that no _change_ had, or could take place, (and remember now, this is more than twenty-five years since the ceremonies with the Jewish Sabbaths were nailed to the cross,) for the very best of reasons, until the judgment, because he shows that we are to be judged by _that law_. Then I ask by what parity of reasoning any one can make the law of the ten commandments perfect, while they at the same time assert that the fourth one is abolished? and that on no better evidence than calling it the JEWISH Sabbath. Now let us look at the Apostle John's testimony. "And hereby we do know that we know him if we keep his commandments. He that saith I know him and keepeth not his commandments is a LIAR, and the truth is not in him." Now no man, more especially one who professes to abide by the whole truth, feels entirely easy if he is called a _liar_. Now John please explain yourself. Hear him: "Brethren, I write no new commandment unto you but an _old_ commandment which ye had from the beginning. The old commandment is the _word_ which ye have heard from the BEGINNING." What do you mean by _beginning_? Turn to my Gospel, 1st ch. "In the _beginning_ was the word,"--"the same was in the _beginning_ with God." 1, 2. See Gen. i ch.: "In the _beginning_ God created the heavens and the earth." Then you are pointing us to the seventh day of creation, in which God instituted the seventh day Sabbath of rest, for the _old_ commandment in the _beginning_. ii: 3. Certainly there is no other place to point to. Does not Jesus point us to the same place for the _beginning_ when marriage was first instituted. Matt. xix: 4. [24]In my second letter to the church, I have taught the same doctrine: viz. "This is the commandment that as ye have heard from the _beginning ye should walk in it_." (practice it.) ii: 5, 6. "A _new_ commandment I write unto you." 7th v. This is the one that Jesus gave us on that memorable night in which he was betrayed, after he had instituted the sacrament and washed our feet. He said "By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples if ye have love one to another." xiii: 34, 35. The first then teaches us, Love to God, 2d, to Love our neighbor as ourself; "on these two commandments (says Jesus) hang all the law and the prophets." Then we understand this is the essence of the ten commandments, and if we do not keep the Sabbath we do not love God. Jesus says, "If ye love me ye will keep my commandments." We are repeatedly told that the Sabbath was changed or forever abolished, at the crucifiction of our Lord, and it is stated by the most competent authorities that John wrote this epistle about sixty years afterwards, and that about six years after this our blessed Lord revealed to him the state of the Church down to the judgment of the great day. In the xiv ch. Rev. 6-11, he saw three angels following each other in succession: first one preaching the everlasting gospel (second advent doctrine); 2d, announcing the fall of Babylon; 3d, calling God's people out of her by showing the awful destruction that awaited all such as did not obey. He sees the separation and cries out, "Here is the patients of the Saints, here are they that keep the _commandments_ of God and the faith of Jesus." And this picture was so deeply impressed on his mind, that when the Saviour said to him "Behold I come quickly and my reward is with me," he seemed to understand this, saying--"Blessed are they that _do_ his commandments that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city." xxii: 14. Now it seems to me that the seventh day Sabbath is more clearly included in these commandments, than thou shalt not steal, nor kill, nor commit adultery, for it is the only one that was written at the creation or in the _beginning_. He allows no stopping place this side of the gates of the city. Then, if we do not keep that day, John has made out his case, that we are all _liars_. We say in every other case the type must be continued until it is superseded by the antitype, as in the case of the passover, until our Lord was crucified. So then, as Paul tells us, "there remaineth a keeping of the Sabbath to the people of God," and that we believe will be in the Milenium, [25]the seven thousandth year, so that the seventh day Sabbath and no other will answer for the type, and those who keep the first or the eighth day Sabbath cannot consistently look for the antitype of rest or the great Sabbath, short of one thousand years in the future. Again: Isaiah says: "To the law and to the testimony if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them." viii: 20. Now if the Gentiles are under no law, as 'is asserted,' pray tell me what right, as Gentiles, have we to appeal to the law and testimony, or to this text. In the xxiv. of Matt. our Saviour says to his disciples, in answer to their questions, When shall these things be? and what shall be the sign of thy coming, and the end of the world? "When ye therefore shall see the abomination of desolation spoken of by Daniel the prophet, stand in the holy place," &c. 15v. "Pray ye that your flight be not in the winter, neither on the Sabbath day." 20v. The first question is, at what age of the world is this, where our Lord recognizes the Sabbath? 1st. It is agreed on all hands that this time to which he here refers, never transpired until the destruction of Jerusalem in A.D. 70, about forty years after his crucifiction. 2d. Some others say, down to the second Advent! The first mentioned is safe ground and sufficient for our purpose; nor need we stop to inquire why our Lord gave these directions, it is forever settled that he directed the minds of his followers to THE, not _a_ Sabbath. Keep it in remembrance, that he told the Pharisees that he was Lord, not of _a_, but of THE Sabbath, meaning that one which of course had already been established. The 2d question is, did our Lord ever trifle with, or mislead his disciples? The response is No! Then it is clear that if he taught them to pray at all, it must be in faith, and he of course would hear them and mediate with the Father to change the day of their flight. I ask what kind of a prayer and with what kind of faith would his disciples have asked to have this day changed, if as we are told, it was abolished some forty years before, and they had, contrary to the will of God, persisted in keeping up this seventh day Sabbath. Any one who has confidence in God's word, knows that such a prayer never would be answered. What if you do say the Jews always kept that Sabbath, and it was the same seventh day Sabbath which they kept when he was teaching them in their synagogues? I, say so too! (and that fact will be presented by and by, in its place.) This does not touch the point. Jesus was here giving instructions to his [26]followers, both Jew and Gentile, respecting _the_ Sabbath which they would have to do with. It is immaterial what kind of sophistry is presented to overthrow the point, nothing can touch it short of proving it a mistranslation. Jesus did here recognize the perpetuity of the _seventh day Sabbath_. And John will continue to make all men liars that say they know him and refuse the light presented and disregard this commandment. If God instituted the Sabbath in Paradise and has not abolished it here, then must it be _perpetual_? If Paul's argument in iii. Rom. that the law is established through faith, is correct then is it _perpetual_. If James' royal _perfect law_ of liberty, which we are to be doers of, and judged by, means the commandments, then is the Sabbath _perpetual_. If the Apostle John has made out a clear case, by citing us back to the _beginning_ of creation, and by _walking_ in and doing these commandments, we shall have right to the tree of life and enter in by the gates into the city; then it _must be perpetual_. If the earthly Sabbath is typical of the heavenly, then must it be _perpetual_. If not one jot or one tittle can ever pass from the law, then must it be _perpetual_. If the Saviour, in answer to the young man who asked him what he should do to inherit _eternal life_, gave a safe direction for Gentiles to follow, viz: "If thou wilt enter into _life_ keep the commandments (and these included those commandments which his Father had given), then, without _contradiction_ the Sabbath is _perpetual_, and all the arguments which ever can be presented against the fourth commandment being observed before God wrote it on tables of stone to prove that it is not binding on Gentiles, falls powerless before this one sentence: _If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments._ I say the proof is positive that the Sabbath was a constituent part of the commandments, and Jesus says the Sabbath 'was made for man.' The Jews were only a _fragment of creation_. "The principle is settled in all governments that there are but two ways in which any law can cease to be binding upon the people. It may expire by its own limitations, or it may be repealed by the same authority which enacted it; and in the latter case the repealing act must be as explicit as that by which the obligation was originally imposed." Now we have it in proof that the Sabbath was instituted in Paradise, the _first_ of all laws without any limitation, and no enactment by God to abolish it, unless what we have already referred to can be considered proof. One more passage which I have not alluded to will show that it was not [27]abolished at the crucifiction, for his disciples kept the Sabbath while he was resting in his tomb. See Luke xxiii: 55, 56. Let us now pass to another part of the subject. The third question: WAS THE SEVENTH-DAY SABBATH EVER CHANGED? IF SO, WHEN, AND FOR WHAT REASON? Here we come to a question which has more or less engaged the attention of the whole christian world, and the greater portion of those who believe in a crucified Saviour say that this change took place, and is dated from his resurrection. Some say subsequently, while a minority insist upon it that there is no proof for the change. Now to obtain the truth and nothing but the truth on this important subject, I propose to present, or quote from standard authors on both sides of the question, and try the whole by the standard of divine truth. 1st. Buck's Theological Dictionary, to which no doubt thousands of ministers and laymen appeal to sustain their argument for the change, says: "Under the christian dispensation the Sabbath is _altered_ from the _seventh_ to the _first day_ of the week." The arguments for the change, are these: 1st. "The _seventh_ day was observed by the Jewish church in memory of the rest of God; so the _first_ day of the week has always been observed by the christian church in memory of _Christ's resurrection_. 2d. Christ made repeated visits to his disciples on that day. 3d. It is called the Lord's day. Rev. i: 10. 4th. On this day the Apostles were assembled, when the Holy Ghost came down so visibly upon them to qualify them for the conversion of the world. 5th. On this day we find Paul at Troas when the disciples came together to break bread. 6th. The directions the Apostles gave to Christians plainly alludes to their assembling on that day. 7th. Pliny bears witness of the first day of the week being kept as a festival in honor of the resurrection of Christ." "Numerous have been the days appointed by man for religious services, but these are not binding because of _human_ institution. Not so the Sabbath. It is of _divine_ institution, so it is to be kept holy unto the Lord." Doct. Dodridge, whose ability and piety has seldom or rarely been disputed, comments on some of the above articles thus: (Commentary p. 606.) "Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come." 1 Cor. xvi: 2. "Show that it was to be put into a [28]common stock. The argument drawn from hence for the religious observance of the first day of the week in these primitive churches of Corinth and Galacia is too _obvious_ to need any further illustration, and yet too important to be passed by in entire silence." Again, p. 904, "I was in the spirit on the Lord's day," &c. Rev. i: 10. "It is so very unnatural and contrary to the use of the word in all other authors to interpret this of the Jewish Sabbath, as Mr. Baxter justly argues at large, that I cannot but conclude with him and the generality of Christian writers on this subject, that this text _strongly_ infers the extraordinary regard paid to the first day of the week in the Apostle's time as a day solemnly consecrated to Christ in memory of his resurrection from the dead." There is much more, but these are his strong arguments. I shall quote some more from the Commentaries by and by. I wish to place by the side of these arguments one from the British Quarterly Theological Review and Ecclesiastical Recorder, of Jan. 1830, which I extract from 'the _Institution of the Sabbath day_,' by Wm. Logan Fisher, of Philadelphia, a book in which there is much valuable information on this subject, though I disagree with the writer, because his whole labor is to abolish the Sabbath; yet he gives much light on this subject, from which I take the liberty to make some quotations. But to the Quarterly Review of 1830: "It is said that the observance of the seventh day Sabbath is transferred in the Christian church to the first day of the week. We ask by what authority, and are very much mistaken if an examination of all the texts of the New Testament, in which the first day of the week or Lord's day is mentioned, does not prove that there is no divine or Apostolic precept enjoining its observance, nor any certain evidence from scripture that it was, in fact, so observed in the times of the Apostles. Accordingly we search the scriptures in vain, either for an Apostolic precept, appointing the first day of the week to be observed in the place of the Jewish Sabbath, or for any unequivocal proof that the first christians so observed it--there are only three or, at most four places of scripture, in which the first day of the week is mentioned. The next passage is in Acts xx: 7. 'Upon the first day of the week when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them.' All that St. Luke here tells us plainly is, that on a particular occasion the christians of Troas met together on the first day of the week to celebrate the Eucharist and to hear Paul preach. This is the only place in [29]scripture, in which the first day of the week is in any way connected with any acts of public worship, and he who would certainly infer from this _solitary instance_ that the first day of every week was consecrated by the Apostles to religious purposes, must be far gone in the art of drawing universal conclusion from particular premises." On page 178, Mr. Fisher says, "I have examined several different translations of the scriptures, both from the Hebrew and the Septuagint, with notes and anotations more extensive than the texts; have traced as far as my leisure would permit, various ecclesiastical histories, some of them voluminous and of ancient date; have paid considerable attention to the writings of the earliest authors in the christian era, and to rare works, old and of difficult access, which treat upon this subject; I have read with care many of the publications of sectarians to sustain the institution; I have omitted nothing within my reach, and I have found not one shred of argument, or authority of any kind, that may not be deemed of partial and sectarian character, to support the institution of the first day of the week as a day of peculiar holiness. But, in the place of argument, I have found opinions without number--volumes filled with idle words that have no truth in them. In the want of texts of scripture, I have found perversions; in the want of truth, false statements. I have seen it stated that Justin Marter in his apology, speaks of Sunday as a holy day; that Eusebius, bishop of Cesarea, who lived in the fourth century, establishes the fact of the transfer of the _seventh_ to the first day, by Christ himself. These things are _not true_. These authors say no such thing. I have seen other early authors referred to as establishing the same point, but they are equally false." Here then is the testimony of four authors, two for the change and two against it, from the old and new world. No truth seeking, unbiased mind can hesitate for a moment on which side to decide, after comparing them with the inspired word. Doctor JENKS of Boston, author of the Comprehensive Commentary, (purporting to comprehend _all_ other commentators on the bible,) after quoting author after author, on this subject, ventures forth with _his_ unsupported opinion in these words: "Here is a Christian Sabbath observed by the disciples and _owned_ by _our Lord_. The visit Christ made to his disciples was on the first day of the week, and the first day of the week is the only day of the week or month or year ever mentioned by numbers in all the New [30]Testament, and that is several times spoken of as a day _religiously_ observed." Where? Echo answers, where! HEMAN HUMPHREY, President of Amherst College, from whose book I have already made some quotations, after devoting some thirty-four pages to the establishment and perpetuation of the seventh day Sabbath, comes to his fourth question, viz. 'Has the day been changed?' Singular as this question may appear by the side of what he had already written to establish and perpetuate the seventh day Sabbath from the seventh day of creation down to the resurrection of the just, but as every man feels that it his privilege to justify and explain, when precept and practice does not agree--so is it with President Humphrey, he can now shape the scriptures to suit every one that has followed in the wake of Pope Gregory for 1225 years. He says, "The fourth commandment is so expressed as to admit of a change in the day,"--thus striking vitally every argument he had before presented. Hear him--he says the seventh day is the Sabbath; "it was so at that time, (in the beginning) and for many ages after, but it is not said, that it always _shall be_--it is the _Sabbath_ day which we are to remember; and so at the close, it is the _Sabbath_ which was hallowed and blessed and not the _seventh_ day. The Sabbath then, the holy rest itself, is one thing. The day on which we are to rest is another." I ask, in the name of common sense, how we should know how or when to keep the Sabbath if it did not matter which day. If the President could not see the sanctification of the seventh day in the decalogue what did he mean by quoting Gen. ii: 3, so often, where it says "_God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it._" Again, he says "Redemption is a greater work than creation, hence the change." Fifthly, God early consecrated the Christian Sabbath by a most remarkable outpouring of his spirit at the day of Pentecost. And that Jesus has left us his own example by not saying a syllable after his resurrection about keeping the _Jewish Sabbath_. He also quotes the four passages about Jesus and his disciples keeping the first day of the week. Here, he says, the inference to our minds is _irresistible_--for keeping the first day of the week instead of the _seventh_. And further says, "it might be proved by innumerable quotations from the writings of the Apostolic Fathers," &c. All this may be very true in itself, but it all falls to the ground for the want of one single precept from the bible. If Redemption, because it was greater than Creation, and the remarkable display of God's power at the [31]Pentecost, and Christ never saying any thing about the _Jewish Sabbath_ after his resurrection are such _strong_ proofs that the perpetual seventh day Sabbath was changed to the first day at that time, and must be believed because learned men say so, what shall we do with the sixth day, on which our blessed Saviour expired on the cross; darkness for three hours had covered the earth, and the vail of the Temple was rent from top to the bottom, and there was such an earthquake throughout vast creation that we have only to open our eyes and look at the rent rocks for a clear and perfect demonstration that this whole globe was shaken from centre to circumference, and the graves of the dead were opened. Matt. xxvii: 50, 53. You may answer me that Popery has honored that day by calling it good Friday, and the next first day following Easter Sunday, &c., but after all, nothing short of bible argument will satisfy the earnest inquirer after truth. The President had already shown that the _Jewish_ Sabbath was abolished at Christ's death. What reason then had he to believe that the Saviour would speak of it afterwards. So also the Pentecost had been a type from the giving the law at Sinai to be kept annually for about 1500 years, consequently it would be solemnized on every day of the week, at each revolving year, as is the case with the 4th of July: three years ago it was on the fourth day and now it comes on the seventh day of the week. Further, see Peter standing amidst the amazed multitude, giving the scripture reason for this miraculous display of God's power. He does not give the most distant hint that this was, or was to be, the day of the week for worship, or the true Sabbath, neither do any of the Apostles then, or afterwards, for when they kept this day the next year, it must have been the second day of the week. We must have better evidence than what has been adduced, to believe this was the Sabbath, for according to the type, seven Sabbaths were to be complete, (and there was no other way given them to come to the right day,) from the day they kept the first, or from the resurrection. Here then is proof positive that the Sabbath in this year was the day before the Pentecost. See Luke xxiii: 55, 56. If President H. is right, then was there two Sabbaths to be kept in succession in one week. Where is the precept? No where! Well, says the inquirer, I want to see the bible proof for this '_Christian Sabbath observed by the disciples, and owned by our Lord_.' W. Jenks. Here it will be necessary for us to understand, first how God has computed time. In Gen. i. we read, "And [32]God said let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven, to divide the day from the night, and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years." 14 v. 16 v. says, "the greater light to rule the day,"--from sunrise to sunset. Now there are many modes invented for computing time. We say our day begins at 12 o'clock at night; seamen begin theirs twelve hours sooner, at noon; the Jews commence their days at 6 o'clock in the evening, between the two extremes. Are we _all_ right? No! Who shall settle this question? God! Very well: He called the light day, and the darkness he called night, and the evening and the morning were the first day. Gen. i: 5. Then the twenty-four hour day commenced at 6 o'clock in the evening. How is that, says one? Because you cannot regulate the day and night to have what the Saviour calls twelve hours in the day, without establishing the time from the centre of the earth, the equator, where, at the beginning of the sacred year, the sun rises and sets at 6 o'clock. At _this_ time, while the sun is at the summer solstice, the inhabitants of the north pole have no night, while at this same time at the south it is about all night, therefore the inhabitants of the earth have no other right time to commence their twenty-four hour day, than beginning at 6 o'clock in the evening. God said to Moses '_from even, unto even, shall you celebrate your Sabbath_.' Then of course the next day must begin where the Sabbath ended. History shows that the Jews obeyed and commenced their days at 6 o'clock in the evening. Now then we will try to investigate the main argument by which these authors, and thousands of others say the Sabbath was changed. The first is in John xx: 19, "Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week when the doors where shut where the disciples were assembled _for fear of the Jews_ (mark it) came Jesus and stood in their midst, and said peace be unto you." Here we understand this to be the same day of the resurrection. On that same day he travelled with the two disciples to Emans, sixty furlongs (7-1/2 miles), and they constrained him to abide with them, for it was toward evening and the _day was far spent_. Luke xxiv: 29. After this the disciples travelled the 7-1/2 miles back to Jerusalem and soon after they found the disciples, the Saviour, as above stated, was in their midst. Now it cannot be disputed but what this was the evening after the resurrection, for Jesus rose in the morning, some ten or eleven hours after the first day had commenced. Then the evening of the first day was passing away, and therefore the evening brought to view in [33]the text was the close of the first day or the commencing of the second. McKnight's translation says, "in the evening of that day." Purver's translation says, "the evening of that day on the first after the Sabbath." Further, wherever the phrase first day of the week, occurs in the New Testament, the word day is in _italics_, showing that it is not the original; but supplied by translators. Again, it is asserted that Jesus met with his disciples the next first day. See 26v: "And _after_ eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them, then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said peace be unto you." Dr. Adam Clark in referring to this 26v, says: "It seems likely that this was precisely on that day se'night on which Christ had appeared to them before; and from this we may learn that this was the weekly meeting of the Apostles." Now it appears to me that a little child, with the simple rules of addition and subtraction, could have refuted this man. I feel astonished that men who profess to be ambassadors for God do not expose such downright perversion of scripture, but it may look clear to those who want to have it so. Not many months since, in conversation with the Second Advent lecturer in New Bedford, I brought up this subject. He told me I did not understand it. See here, says he. I can make it plain, counting his fingers thus: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday--does'nt that make eight days after? and because I would not concede, he parted from me as one that was obstinate and self-willed. Afterwards musing on the subject, I said, this must be the way then to understand it: _Count Sunday Twice._ If any of them were to be paid for eight days labor, they would detect the error in a moment if their employer should attempt to put the first and last days together, and offer them pay but for seven. Eight days _after_ the evening of the first day would stand thus: The second day of the week would certainly be the first of the eight. Then to count eight days of twenty-four hours _after_, we must begin at the close of the evening of the first, and count to the close of the evening of the second day; to where the Jews (by God's command) commenced their third day. But suppose we calculate it by our mode of keeping time. Our Lord appears to his disciples the first time at the close of Sunday evening. Now count eight days _after_, (with your fingers or anything else,) and it will bring you to Monday evening. Now I ask if this looks like Sunday, the first day of the week? [34]Father Miller also gives his reasons for the change, in his lecture on the great Sabbath: "One is Christ's resurrection and his often meeting with his disciples _afterwards_ on that day. This, with the example of the Apostles, is strong evidence that the proper creation Sabbath to man, came on the first day of the week." His proof is this: "Adam must have rested on the first day of his life, and thus you will see that to Adam it was the first day of the week, for it would not be reasonable to suppose that Adam began to reckon time before he was created." He certainly could not be able to work six days before the first Sabbath. And thus with the second Adam; the first day of the week he arose and lived. And we find by the _bible_ and by history, that the first day of the week "_was ever afterwards observed as a day of worship_." Now I say there is no more truth in these assertions, than there is in those I have already quoted. There is not one passage in the bible to show that Christ met with his disciples on the first day of the week after the day of his resurrection, nor that the first day of the week was _ever afterwards_ observed as a day of worship; save only in one instance, and that shall be noticed in its place. And it seems to me if Adam could not reckon time only from his creation then by the same rule no other man could reckon time before his birth, and by this showing Christ could not reckon his time until after his resurrection. It is painful to me to expose the errors of one whom I have so long venerated, and still love for the flood of light he has given the world in respect to the Second Advent of our Saviour; but God's word must be vindicated if we have to cut off a right arm, "there is nothing true but truth!" I pray God to forgive him in joining the great multitude of Advent believers, to sound the retreat back beyond the _tarrying_ time, just when the virgins had gained a glorious victory over the world, the flesh, and the devil! Go back from this to the slumbering quarters now; nothing but treachery to our Master's cause ever dictated such a course! I never can be made to believe that our glorious Commander designed that we should leave our sacrifices smoking on the altar of God, in the midst of the enemies' land, but rather that we should be pushing onward from victory to victory, until we are established in the Capital of _His_ kingdom. Would it have been expedient or a mark of courage in General Taylor, after he had conquered the Mexican army on the 9th May last, to have retreated back to the capital of the U. States, to place himself and army on the _broad platform_ of liberty, and [35]commence to travel the ground over again for the purpose of pursuing and overcoming his vanquished foe? No! Every person of common sense knows that such a course would have overwhelmed him and all his followers with unutterable disgrace, no matter how unrighteous the contest. Not so with this, for our cause is one of the most glorious, tho' it be the most trying that ever the sun shone upon since God placed it in the heavens. Onward and victory, then, are our watchwords, and no retreating back to, or beyond the cry at _Midnight_! But to the subject. Did our Saviour ever meet with his disciples on the first day of the week after the evening of the day of his resurrection? The xxi. ch. John says "they went a fishing, and while there Jesus appeared unto them." In the 14th v. he says, "This is now the third time that Jesus shewed himself to his disciples after that he was risen from the dead." Now turn to 1 Cor. xv: 4-7: Paul's testimony is, 'that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve, after that of above five hundred brethren at once, and then of James, then of all the Apostles.' These are all that are specified, up to his going into heaven. Now pray tell me if you can, where these men got their information respecting the frequent meetings on the first day of the week. The bible says no such thing. But let us pursue the subject and look at the third text, "Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in _store_, as God has prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come." Now please turn back to Dr. Dodridge's authority, he says the argument is too obvious to need any illustration, that the money was put into common stock, and that this was the religious observance of the first day of the week. Now whoever will read the first six verses of this chapter, and compare them with Rom. xv: 26-33, will see that Paul's design was to collect some money for the poor saints at Jerusalem, and their laying it by them in store until he came that way; for it plainly implies that they were at home, for no one could understand that you had money lying by you in store, if it was in common stock or in other hands. Again, see Acts xviii: 4, 11. Paul preaching every Sabbath day, at this very time, for eighteen months, to these very same Corinthians, bids them farewell, to go up to the feast at Jerusalem, 21 v. By reading to xxi. ch. 17 v. you have his history until he arrives there. Now I ask, if Dr. Dodridge's clear illustration can or will be relied on, when Luke clearly teaches that Paul's _manner_ was, and that he did always preach to them on the Sabbath, which, of course, [36]was the Seventh day, and not the first day of the week. Fourth text, John says: I was in the spirit on the Lord's day. Here Dr. D. concludes with the generality of christian writers on this subject that this strongly infers the extraordinary regard paid to the first day of the week, as solemnly consecrated to Christ, &c. If the scripture any where called this the Lord's day, there might be some reason to believe their statements, but the seventh day Sabbath is called the Lord's day. See Exod. xx: 10. Mr. Fisher, in speaking of the late Harrisburg convention of 1844-45, says, "The most spirited debate that occurred at the assembly was to fix a proper name for the first day of the week, whether it should be called _Sabbath_, the _Christian_ Sabbath or _Lord's_ day. The reason for this dispute was, that there was no authority for calling the first day of the week by either one of these names. To pretend that that command was fixed and unchangeable, and yet to alter it to please the fancy of man, is in itself ridiculous. It is hardly possible in the nature of man, that a class of society should be receiving pay for their services and not be influenced thereby:--in the nature of things they will avoid such doctrines as are repugnant to them that give them bread." Now we come to the fifth and last, and only one spoken of in all the New Testament, for a meeting on the first day of the week. Luke says, "Upon the first day of the week when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, _ready to depart on the morrow_: and continued his speech until midnight." Acts xx: 7. Now by following the scripture mode of computing time, from 6 o'clock in the evening to 6 o'clock in the morning, as has been shown, Paul to commence on the beginning of the first day would begin on what we call Saturday evening at 6 o'clock, and preach till midnight. After that he restores to life the young man, then breaks bread and talked till the break of day, which would be Sunday morning. Then he commenced his journey for Jerusalem and travelled and sailed all day Sunday, the first day of the week, and two other days in succession. xx: 11-15. Now it seems to me, if Paul did teach or keep the first day of the week for the Sabbath or a holy day, he violated the sanctity of it to all intents and purposes, without giving one single reason for it; all the proof presented here is a night meeting. Please see the quotation from the British Quarterly Review. But let us look at it the way in which _we_ compute time: I think it will be fair to premise, that about midnight was the middle of [37]Paul's meeting; at any rate there is but one midnight to a twenty-four hour day. We say that Sunday, the first day of the week, does not commence until 12 o'clock Saturday night. Then it is very clear, if he is preaching on the first day till midnight, according to our reckoning it must be on Sunday night, and his celebrating the Lord's supper after midnight would make it that he broke bread on _Monday, the second day_, and that the day time on Sunday is not included, unless he had continued his speech through the day till midnight. Now the text says that on the first day of the week they came together to break bread. To _prove that they did break bread on that day_, we must take the mode in which the Jews computed time, and allow the first day of the week to begin at 6 o'clock on Saturday evening, and to follow Paul's example, pay no regard to the first day, after daylight, but to travel, &c. If _our_ mode of time is taken, they broke bread on the second day, and that would destroy the meaning of the text. Here then, in this text, is the _only_ argument that can be adduced in the scriptures of divine truth, for a _change of the perpetual seventh day_ Sabbath of the Lord our God to the first day of the week. Now I'll venture the assertion, that there is no law or commandment recorded in the bible, that God has held so sacred among men, as the keeping of His Sabbath. Where then, I ask, is the living man that dare stand before God and declare that here is the change for the church of God to keep the first instead of the seventh day of the week for the Sabbath. If it could be proved that Paul preached here all of the first day, the only inference that could be drawn, would be, to break bread on that day! There is one more point worthy of our attention, that is, the teaching and example of Jesus. I have been told by one that is looked up to as a strong believer in the second coming of the Lord this fall, that Jesus broke the Sabbath. Jesus says, I have kept my Father's commandments. It is said that he 'broke the Sabbath,' because he allowed his disciples to pluck the corn and eat it on that day, and the Pharisees condemned them. He says, "If ye had known what this meaneth, I will have mercy and not sacrifice, ye would not have condemned the _guiltless_." Then they were not _guilty_. See Deut. xxiii: 25. He immediately cites them to David and his men, shewing that it was lawful and right when hungry, even to eat the shoe bread that belonged only to the priests, and told them that he was Lord of the Sabbath day. Here he shows too, that he was with his [38]disciples passing to the synagogue to teach; they ask him if it was lawful to heal on the Sabbath day. He asks them if they had a sheep fall into the ditch on the Sabbath, if they would not haul him out? How much better then is a man than a sheep? Wherefore it is lawful to do well on the Sabbath days; and immediately healed the man with a withered hand. Matt. xii: 1-13. On another Sabbath day, while he was teaching, he healed a woman that had been bound of satan eighteen years, and when the ruler of the synagogue began to find fault, he called him a hypocrite, and said "doth not each one of you on the Sabbath day loose his ox or his ass from the stall and lead him away to watering; and all his adversaries were _ashamed_." Luke xiii: 10-17. The xiv. chapter of Luke is quoted to prove that he broke the Sabbath because he went into the Pharisees house with many others on the Sabbath day to eat bread. Here he saw a man with the dropsy and he asked them if it was lawful to heal on the Sabbath day. 'And they held their peace and he took him and healed him,' and asked them 'which of them having an ox or an ass fall into the pit, would not straitway pull him out on the Sabbath day; and they could not answer him again.' 1-6 v. And 'he continued to teach them, by showing them when they made a feast to call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind, and then they should be blessed.' Read the chapter, and you will readily see that he took this occasion, as the most befitting, to teach them by parables, what their duty was at weddings and feasts, in the same manner as he taught them in their synagogues. There is still another passage, and I believe the only one, to which reference has been made, (except where he opened the eyes of a man that was born blind,) for proof that he broke the Sabbath. It is recorded in John v: 5-17. Here Jesus found a man that had been sick thirty-eight years, by the pool of Bethesda, 'he saith unto him rise, take up thy bed and walk,--therefore did they persecute Jesus and sought to slay him, because he had done these things on the Sabbath day.' 16 v. 'But Jesus answered them, my Father worketh hitherto and I work.' If they did not work every hour and moment of time, it would be impossible for man to exist: Here undoubtedly he had reference to these and other acts of necessity and mercy; but the great sin for which professors in this enlightened age charge the Saviour with in this transaction, is, in directing the man to take up his bed, contrary to law. It is clear the people [39]were forbidden to carry burthens on the Sabbath day, as in Jer. xvii: 21, 22, but by reading the 24th v. in connection with Neh. xiii: 15-22, we learn that this prohibition related to what was lawful for them to do on the other six days of the week, viz. merchandise and trading. See proof, Neh. x: 31: also unlawful, as in Amos viii: 5. We need not, nor we cannot misunderstand the fourth commandment, taken in connection with the other nine, they were simple and pure written by the finger of God; but in the days of our Saviour it had become heavily laden with Jewish traditions, hence when Jesus appeals to them whether it is lawful to do good and to heal on the Sabbath days, their mouths are closed because they cannot contradict him from the law nor the prophets. The Saviour no where interferes with them in their most rigid observance of the day; but when they find fault with him for performing his miracles of mercy on that day, he tells them they have broken the law; and in another place, "If a man on the Sabbath day receive circumcision without breaking the law of Moses, are ye angry at me because I have made a man every whit whole on the Sabbath day?" He then says, "Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment." vii: 23, 24. Did he break the Sabbath? Now the law requires that the beasts shall rest; but what is the practice of many of those who are the most strict in keeping Sunday for the Sabbath. Sick, or well, ministers or laymen, do they not ride back and forth to meeting? Again, is it right and lawful to carry forth our dead on the Sabbath? or carry the communion service back and forth. The Apostle says, 'believe and be baptized.' Suppose this should be on the Sabbath and we were some distance from the water, would any one interfere with us if we carried our change of apparel with us and back again, or have we in so doing transgressed the law; if we have, it is high time we made a full stop. Jesus undoubtedly had good reasons for directing the sick man to take up his bed and walk, but I cannot learn that he justified any one else in carrying their bed on the Sabbath, unless in a case of necessity and mercy, such as he cited them to, as watering their cattle, and pulling them out of the ditch, and eating when hungry, and being healed when sick. Be it also remembered that when the Sanhedrim tried him they did not condemn him, as in the other cases cited; so in this, they failed for want of scripture testimony. He was the Lord of the Sabbath, and the law of ceremonies were now about [40]to cease forever, the ten commandments with the keeping of the Sabbath therefore were to be stripped of these ceremonies and all of their traditions, and left as pure to be written on the hearts of the Gentiles as when first written on tables of stone, therefore Jesus taught that it was right to do good on the Sabbath day, and whoever follows his example and teaching will keep the seventh day Sabbath holy and acceptable to God. They will also judge righteous judgement, and not according to appearance. There is but one Christian Sabbath named, or established in the bible, and that individual, whoever he is, that undertakes to abolish or change it, is the _real Sabbath breaker_. Remember that the keeping the commandments is the only safe guide through the gates into the city. My friends and neighbors, and especially my family, know that I have for more than twenty years, strictly endeavored to keep the first day of the week for the Sabbath, and I can say that I did it in all good conscience before God, on the ocean, and in foreign countries as well as my own, until about sixteen months since I read an article published in the Hope of Israel, by a worthy brother, T. M. Preble, of Nashua, which when I read and compared with the bible, convinced me that there never had been any change. Therefore the seventh day was the Sabbath, and God required me as well as him to keep it holy. Many things now troubled my mind as to how I could make this great change, family, friends, and brethren and, but this one passage of Scripture was, and always will be as clear as a sunbeam. "_What is that to thee: follow thou me._" In a few days my mind was made up to begin to keep the fourth commandment, and I bless God for the clear light he has shed upon my mind in answer to prayer and a thorough examination of the scriptures on this great subject. Contrary views did, after a little, shake my position some, but I feel now that there is no argument nor sophistry that can becloud my mind again this side of the gates of the Holy City. Brother Marsh, who no doubt thinks, and perhaps thousands besides, that his paper is what it purports to be, THE VOICE OF TRUTH, takes the ground with the infidel that there is no Sabbath. Brother S. S. Snow, of New York, late editor of the Jubilee Standard, publishes to the world that he is the Elijah, preceding the advent of our Saviour, restoring all things: (the seventh day Sabbath must be one of the all things,) and yet he takes the same ground with Br. Marsh, that the Sabbath [41]is forever abolished. As the seventh day Sabbath is a real prophecy, a picture (and not a shadow like the Jewish Sabbaths,) of the thing typified which is to come, I cannot see how those who believe in the change or abolition of the type, can have any confidence to look to God for the great antetype, the Sabbath of rest, to come to them. Brother J. B. Cook has written a short piece in his excellent paper, the ADVENT TESTIMONY. It was pointed and good, but too short; and as brother Preble's Tract now before me, did not embrace the arguments which have been presented since he published it, it appeared to me that something was called for in this time of falling back from this great subject. I therefore present this book, hoping at least, that it will help to strengthen and save all honest souls seeking after truth. A WORD RESPECTING THE HISTORY. At the close of the first century a controversy arose, whether both days should be kept or only one, which continued until the reign of Constantine the Great. By his laws, made in A. D. 321, it was decreed for the future that Sunday should be kept a day of rest in all the cities and towns; but he allowed the country people to follow husbandry. History further informs us that Constantine murdered his two sisters husbands and son, and his own familiar friend, that same year, and the year before boiled his wife in a cauldron of oil.--The controversy still continued down to A. D. 603, when Pope Gregory passed a law abolishing the seventh day Sabbath, and establishing the first day of the week. See Baronius Councils, 603. Barnfield's Eng. page 116, states that the Parliament of England met on Sundays till the time of Richard II. The first law of England made for keeping of Sunday, was in the time of Edward IV. about 1470. As these two books are not within my reach, I have extracted from T. M. Preble's tract on the Sabbath. Mr. Fisher says, it was Dr. Bound one of the rigid puritans, who applied the name _Sabbath_ to the first day of the week, about the year 1795. "The word Sunday is not found in the bible," it derived its name from the heathen nations of the North, because the day was dedicated to the sun. Neither is the Sabbath applied to the first day any more than it is to the sixth day of the week. While Daniel beheld the little horn, (popery) he said, among other things, he would _think_ to change times and laws. Now this could not mean of men, because it ever has been the prerogative of absolute rulers like himself, to change [42]manmade laws. Then to make the prophecy harmonize with the scripture, he must have meant times and laws established by God, because he might think and pass decrees as he has done, but he, nor all the universe could ever change God's times and laws. Jesus says that "times and seasons were in the power of the father." The Sabbath is the most important law which God ever instituted. "How long refuse ye to keep my commandments, and my laws, see for that the Lord hath given you the Sabbath." Exod. xvi: 28, 29. Then it's clear from the history, that this is in part what Daniel meant. Now the second advent believers have professed all confidence in his visions: why then doubt this. Whoever feels disposed to defend and sustain the decrees of that "blasphemous" power, and especially Pope Gregory and the great Constantine, the murderer, shown to be the _moral_ reformer in this work of changing the Sabbath, are welcome to their principles and feelings. I detest these acts, in common with all others which have emanated from these ten and one horned powers. The Revelations show us clearly that they were originated by the devil. If you say this history is not true then you are bound to refute it. If you cannot, you are as much in duty bound to believe it as any other history, even, that George Washington died in 1799! If the bible argument, and testimony from history are to be relied on as evidence, then it is as clear as a sunbeam that the seventh day Sabbath is a perpetual sign, and is as binding upon man as it ever was. But we are told we must keep the first day of the week for the Sabbath as an ordinance to commemorate the resurrection of Jesus. I for one had rather believe Paul. See Rom. vi: 3-5; Gal. iii: 27; Col. ii: 12. A word more respecting time. See 31st page. Here I have shown that the sun in the centre, regulates all time for the earth--fifty-two weeks to the year, one hundred and sixty-eight hours to the week, the seventh of which is twenty-four hours. Jesus says there are but twelve hours in the day, (from sunrise to sunset.) Then twelve hours night to make a twenty-four hour day, you see, must always begin at a certain period of time. No matter then whether the sun sets with us at eight in summer or 4 o'clk in winter. Now by this, and this is the scripture rule, days and weeks can, and most probably are, kept at the North and South polar regions. What an absurdity to believe that God does exonerate our fathers and brothers from [43]keeping his Sabbath while they are in these polar regions, fishing for seals and whales, should it be with them either all day or all night. If they have lost their reckoning of days and weeks, because there was, or was not any sun six months of the time, how could they learn what day of the week it was when they see the sun setting at 6 o'clock on the equator, if bound home from the South? By referring to Luke, xxiii ch. 55, 56, and xxiv: 1, we see that the people in Palestine had kept the days and weeks right from the creation; since which time, astronomers teach us that not even fifteen minutes have been lost. God does not require us to be any more exact in keeping time, than what we may or have learned from the above rules, but I am told there is a difference in time of twenty-four hours to the mariner that circumnavigates the globe. That, being true, is known to them, but it alters no time on the earth or sea. But, says one, I should like to keep the Sabbath in _time_, just as Jesus did. Then you must live in Palestine, where their day begins seven hours earlier than ours; and yet it is at 6 o'clock in the evening the same period, though not the same by the sun, in which we begin our day. Let me illustrate: our earth, something in the form of an orange, is whirling over every twenty-four hours. It measures three hundred and sixty degrees, or about twenty-one thousand six hundred miles round, in the manner you would pass a string round an orange. Now divide this three hundred and sixty degrees by the twenty-four hour day, and the result is fifteen degrees, or nine hundred miles. Then every fifteen degrees we travel or sail eastward, the sun rises and sets one hour earlier in the period of the twenty-four hours: therefore those who live in Palestine, one hundred and seven degrees east of us, begins and closes the day seven hours earlier, so in proportion all the way round the globe, the sun always stationary! Then the Sabbath begins precisely at 6 o'clock on Friday evening, every where on this globe, and ends at the same period on what we call Saturday evening. God says 'every thing on its day,' 'from even unto even shall ye celebrate your Sabbath;' 'the evening and the morning was the first day.' He is an exact time keeper! I say then, in the name of all that is holy, heavenly and true, and as immortality is above all price, let us see to it that we are found fearing God and keeping his COMMANDMENTS, for this, we are taught, 'is the whole duty of man.' The proof is positive that the seventh day Sabbath is included in the commandments. [44]Bro. Marsh says, "Keeping the Sabbath is embraced in this covenant. Deut. v: 1-6, made with the children of Israel at Horeb. It was not made with their Fathers (the Patriarchs) but with us, even us, who are all of US HERE ALIVE THIS DAY. v. 3. This testimony first _negative_, he made it not with our Fathers, and then _positive_ with _us_, is conclusive. Not a single proof can be presented from either the old or new testament, that it was instituted for any other people or nation." Now it is clear and positive that if the Sabbath is not binding on any other people than the Jews, by the same rule not one of the commandments is binding on any other people, who dare take such infidel ground? Was not the second covenant written on the hearts of the Gentile, even the law of Commandments? which Paul says 'is Holy, just and good.' Thirty years after the crucifixion he directs the Ephesians to the keeping the fifth commandment, that they may live long on the _earth_ not the land of Canaan. vi: 2, 3. Did not God say that Abraham kept his commandments, statutes, and laws? This embraced the Sabbath for circumcision, and the Sabbath were then the only laws, or statutes, or commandments written. The fourth commandment was given two thousand years before Abraham was born! Is not the stranger and all within their gates included in the covenant to keep the Sabbath? See Exod. xx: 10. And did not God require them to keep THE Sabbath before he made this covenant with them in Horeb? See Exod. xvi: 27-30. Does not Isaiah say that God will bless the _man_, and the _son_ of _man_, and the _sons_ of the _stranger_, that keep THE Sabbath? These certainly mean the Gentiles. lvi: 2-3, 6-7. Also, in the lviii. ch. 13, 14, the promise is to all that keep the Sabbath. To what people did _the_ Sabbath belong at the destruction of Jerusalem, nearly forty years after the crucifixion? Matt. xxiv: 20. The Gentiles certainly were embraced in the covenant by this time! Why was it Paul's manner always to preach on the seventh day Sabbath to Jews and Gentiles? By what authority do you call the seventh day Sabbath, the Jewish Sabbath? The bible says it is the Sabbath of the _Lord our God_! And Jesus said that he was the 'Lord of the Sabbath day.' He moreover told the Jews that the Sabbath was made for MAN! Where do you draw the distinguishing line, to show which is and which is not MAN between the _natural seed of Abraham_ and the Gentiles? "Is he the God of the Jews only? Is he not also of the [45]Gentiles? Yes, of the Gentiles also!" Then Paul says 'there is no difference,' and that 'there is no respect of persons with God.' Is it not clear, then, that the Sabbath was made for Adam and his posterity, the whole family of _man_? How very fearful you are that God's people should keep the bible Sabbath! You say, 'let us be cautious, lest we disinherit ourselves by seeking the inheritance under the wrong covenant.' Your meaning is, not to seek to keep the Sabbath covenant, but the one made to Abraham. If you can tell us what precept there is in the Abrahamic covenant that we must now keep to be _saved_, that is not embraced in the one given at Mount Sinai, then we will endeavor to keep that too, with the Sabbath of the Lord our God. If the Sabbath, as you say, is abolished, why do you, JOSEPH MARSH, continue to call the first day of the week the Sabbath. See V. T., 15th July. If you profess to utter the VOICE OF TRUTH from the bible, do be consistent, and also willing that _other papers_, besides yours and the Advent Herald, should give the present truth to the flock of God. I say let it go with lightning speed, every way, as does the political news by the electric telegraph. If the whole law and the prophets hang on the commandments, and by keeping them we enter into life, how will you, or I, enter in if we do not 'keep the commandments.' See Exod. xvi: 28-30. Jesus says, "therefore whosoever shall break one of these least commandments and shall teach men so, shall be called the least in the kingdom," &c. "Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man." Amen! In the xxxi. ch. of Exod., God says, "Wherefore the children of ISRAEL shall keep the Sabbath, to observe the Sabbath throughout their generations for a _perpetual_ covenant; it is a _sign_ between me and the children of ISRAEL _forever_." 16, 17 v. _Who are the true Israelites?_ Answer, God's people. Hear Paul: "Is he the God of the Jews only? Is he not also of the Gentiles? Yes, of the Gentiles also; from uncircumcision through _faith_." Rom. iii: 29, 30. God gave his re-enacted commandment or covenant to the natural Jew in B. C. 1491. They broke this covenant, as he told Moses they would, for which God partially destroyed and dispersed them; God then brought in a new covenant which continued the sign of the Sabbath, which was confirmed by Jesus and his Apostle about 1525 years from the first. See Heb. viii: 8, 10, 13; Rom. ii: 13. Their breaking the first covenant never could [46]destroy the commandments of God. Therefore this new, or second covenant, made with the house of ISRAEL, Heb. viii: 10 v. (not the natural Jew only,) is indelibly written upon the heart. Now every child takes the name of his parents. Let us see what the angel Gabriel says to Mary concerning her son: "The Lord God will give him the throne of David _his_ Father, and he shall reign over the house of Jacob forever." Luke i: 31, 33. Now the prophecy: "There shall come a star out of _Jacob_ and a sceptre shall rise out of _Israel_." Num. Now 1735 years before Jesus was born, God changed Jacob's name to _Israel_, because he prevailed with him. This then is the family name for all who overcome, or prevail. God gave this name to his spiritual child, namely, _Israel_. Then Jesus will 'reign over the house of _Israel_ forever.' This must include all that are saved in the everlasting kingdom. Further, Joseph was the natural son of Jacob or _Israel_. In his prophetic view and dying testimony to his children, he says, Joseph is a fruitful bough, from _thence is the shepherd_ the stone of _Israel_. Gen. xlix: 22-34. Then this Shepherd (Jesus) is a descendant, and is of the house of _Israel_. Does he not say that he is the Shepherd of the Sheep,--what, of the Jews only? No, but also of the Gentile, 'for the promise is not through the law (of ceremonies) but thro' the righteousness of _faith_.' Rom. iv: 13. Micah says, 'They shall smite the Judge of _Israel_, that IS to BE the RULER in ISRAEL. v: 1, 2. Now Jesus never was a _Judge_ nor _Ruler_ in _Israel_. This, then, is a prophecy in the future, that he will judge, and be the Ruler over the whole house of _Israel_. All the family, both natural Jew and Gentile, will assume the family name, the _whole Israel_ of God. The angel Gabriel's message, then, is clear; David is the Father of Jesus, according to the flesh, and Jacob, or rather Israel his Father, and Jesus reigns over the house of Israel forever. Paul says, 'He is not a Jew which is one outwardly, but he is a Jew which is one inwardly.' Rom. ii. 'There is no difference between the Jew and the Greek, (or Gentile) for they are not all _Israel_ which are of _Israel_, neither because they are the seed of Abraham are they all children.' Why? Because the children of the promise, of Isaac (is the true seed.) ix. and x. ch. To the Gallatinns he says, 'Now to Abraham (the Grandfather of Israel) and his seed were the promises made; not to many, but as of one and to thy seed, which is CHRIST--then says, there is neither Jew nor Greek--but one in Christ Jesus, and if [47]ye be Christ then are ye Abraham's seed and heirs according to the promise.' iii. 'And as many as walk according to this rule, peace be on them, and mercy, and upon the ISRAEL of God.' vi. This, then, is the name of the whole family in heaven; Christ is God's only Son and lawful heir; none but the true seed can be joint heirs with Christ in the covenant made with Abraham. Ezekiel's prophecy in xxxvii. chapter, God says 'he will bring up out of their _graves_ the WHOLE HOUSE OF ISRAEL,' 'and I'll put my spirit in you and ye shall _live_.' 12-14. If God here means any other than the spiritual _Israel_, then Universalism is true--for the _whole_ house of natural Israel did not die in faith; if the wicked Jews are to be raised and live before God, then will _all_ the wicked! For God is no respecter of persons: 'And the heathen shall know that I the Lord do sanctify _Israel_ when my sanctuary shall be in the midst of them forever more.' 28 v. Here, then, we prove, that the dead and living saints are the whole _Israel_ of God, and the Covenant and Sign is binding on them into the gates of the holy city. Rev. xx: 14. [48]RECAPITULATION Page 3. _When was the Sabbath instituted?_ Here we have endeavored to show when, and how it continued until its re-enactment on Mount Sinai. Page 9. _Has the Sabbath been abolished since the seventh day of creation? If so, when, and where is the proof?_ Here we believe we have adduced incontestible proof from the scriptures; from the two separate codes of laws given, viz: the first on tables of stone, called by God prophets, Jesus, and his Apostle. 3. The commandments of God. 2d code, the Book of Moses, as written from the mouth of God, the book of ceremonies, combining ecclesiastical and civil law, which Paul shows was nailed to the cross with all _their Sabbaths_ as _carnal commandments_, because their feasts commenced and ended with a Sabbath. See Lev. xxiii. Please read from 16th page onward, how Jesus and the Apostle make the distinction. Page 27. _Was the seventh day Sabbath ever changed? If so, when, and for what reason?_ Here we find, by examining the proofs set forth by those who favor and insist upon the change, that there is not one passage of scripture in the bible to sustain it, but to the contrary, that Jesus kept it and gave directions about it at the destruction of Jerusalem. Paul also, and other Apostles taught how we were to keep the commandments. Page 42. 4th, The History which is uncontroverted. 5th, The time when the Sabbath commences. 6th, Who are true Israel. Transcriber's Notes Page numbers from the original have been retained and enclosed in [] square brackets. Page 2 was blank in the original. This is an old text. As such, spelling is often inconsistent. Spelling has been left as in the original with one exception. The following typographical error has been corrected: page 30: so is[original has ts] it with President Humphrey The following puntuation corrections have been made to the text. page 1: but the keeping the commandments of God."[ending quotation mark missing in scan] page 4: my _commandments_, my _statutes_ and my _laws_."[ending quotation mark missing in scan] page 6: children of Israel _forever_."[ending quotation mark missing in scan] page 10: [quotation mark missing in original]"For it seemed good page 11: school of Tyranus.[original has extraneous quotation mark] page 14: third part of a shekel"[quotation mark missing in original] (to pay for) "the burnt _offerings_ page 16: children of Israel in Mount Sinai;"[quotation mark missing in original] page 20: not under the _law_ but under grace.[period missing in original]" page 21: the commandment is charity,"[quotation mark missing in original] page 22: "Touch not, taste not, handle not.[original has comma]" page 22: a better hope did."[quotation mark missing in original] page 30: argument he had before presented.[period missing in original] page 30: "[quotation mark missing in original]it was so at that time page 30: "[quotation mark missing in original]it might be proved page 34: before he was created."[quotation mark missing in original] page 38: Luke xiii: 10-17.[original has comma] page 41: the ADVENT TESTIMONY.[original has comma] page 42: [original has extraneous quotation mark]Jesus says there are but twelve hours page 44: [original has extraneous quotation mark]This testimony first _negative_ page 45: under the wrong covenant.'[quotation mark missing in original] page 46: nor _Ruler_ in _Israel_.[period missing in original] page 46: ix.[original has comma] and x. ch. page 46: Rom. ii.[original has Rom,ii.] 
55818	----	CATALOGUE Of Books, Pamphlets, Tracts, &c., Issued by the Seventh-Day Adventist Publishing Association. THE ADVENT REVIEW & HERALD OF THE SABBATH, weekly. Terms, $2.00 a year, in advance. THE YOUTH'S INSTRUCTOR, monthly, devoted to moral and religious instruction. Terms, 50 cts. a year, in advance. THE HEALTH REFORMER, monthly, devoted to an exposition of the laws of life, etc. Terms, $1.00 a year, in advance. THE ADVENT TIDENDE, a religious monthly in the Danish language. Terms, $1.00 a year, in advance. THE SVENSK ADVENT HÀROLD, a religious monthly in the Swedish tongue. Terms, $1.00 a year, in advance. HYMN AND TUNE BOOK.--536 hymns--147 tunes. $1.00. THE HISTORY OF THE SABBATH AND FIRST DAY OF THE WEEK. By J. N. Andrews. 528 pp., $1.25. THE CHRISTIAN LIFE AND PUBLIC LABORS OF WM. MILLER, the noted Lecturer and Writer upon the Prophecies. $1.00. THOUGHTS ON THE BOOK OF DANIEL, critical and practical. By U. Smith. Bound, $1.00; condensed edition, paper, 35 cts. THOUGHTS ON THE REVELATION, critical and practical. By U. Smith. 328 pp., $1.00. THE NATURE AND DESTINY OF MAN. By U. Smith. 384 pp., bound, $1.00, paper, 40 cts. THE CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT: or a Discussion between W. H. Littlejohn and the editor of the _Christian Statesman_ on the Sabbath question. $1.00. THE SPIRIT OF PROPHECY. By Mrs. E. G. White. $1.00. LIFE OF ELDER JOSEPH BATES. $1.25. THE GAME OF LIFE, with notes. Three illustrations, 5×6 inches each, representing Satan playing with man for his soul. In board, 50 cts., in paper, 30 cts. (POEM.) A WORD FOR THE SABBATH: or False Theories Exposed. By U. Smith. 3d ed. revised and enlarged. 40 cts. THE UNITED STATES IN PROPHECY. By U. Smith. Bound, 50 cts.; paper, 25 cts. PROGRESSIVE BIBLE LESSONS for Youth, in boards, 50 cts. " " " Children, " 35 cts. (See third page of cover.) THE COMPLETE TESTIMONY OF THE FATHERS OF THE _First Three Centuries_ CONCERNING The Sabbath and First Day BY ELD. J. N. ANDREWS SECOND EDITION. STEAM PRESS OF THE SEVENTH-DAY ADVENTIST PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION BATTLE CREEK, MICH.: 1876. PREFACE. The testimony for first-day sacredness is very meager in the Scriptures, as even its own advocates must admit. But they have been wont to supply the deficiency by a plentiful array of testimonies from the early fathers of the church. Here, in time past, they have had the field all to themselves, and they have allowed their zeal for the change of the Sabbath to get the better of their honesty and their truthfulness. The first-day Sabbath was absolutely unknown before the time of Constantine. Nearly one hundred years elapsed after John was in vision on Patmos before the term "Lord's day" was applied to the first day. During this time, it was called "the day of the sun," "the first day of the week," and "the eighth day." The first writers who gave it the name of "Lord's day," state the remarkable fact that in their judgement the true Lord's day consists of every day of a Christian's life, a very convincing proof that they did not give this title to Sunday because John had so named it on Patmos. In fact, no one of those who give this title to Sunday ever assigned as a reason for so doing that it was thus called by John. Nor is there any intimation in one of the fathers that first-day observance was an act of obedience to the fourth commandment, nor one clear statement that ordinary labor on that day was sinful. In order to show these facts, I have undertaken to give every testimony of every one of the fathers, prior to A. D. 325, who mentions either the Sabbath or the first day. Though some of these quotations are comparatively unimportant, others are of very great value. I have given them all, in order that the reader may actually possess their entire testimony. I have principally followed the translation of the "Ante-Nicene Christian Library," and have in every case made use of first-day translations. The work has been one of great labor to me, and I trust will be found of much profit to the candid reader. J. N. ANDREWS. _Lancaster, Mass., Jan. 1, 1873._ PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. In this edition every quotation has been carefully compared with the works of the fathers from which they were taken. A few minor errors have been detected, but none of importance. The work is commended to the attention of candid inquirers with the prayer that God will make it instrumental in opening the eyes of many to the truth concerning his holy day. J. N. A. _Neuchátel, Switzerland, April 7, 1876._ TESTIMONY OF THE FATHERS. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY STATEMENT. With respect to the Sabbath, the religious world may be divided into three classes:-- 1. Those who retain the ancient seventh-day Sabbath. 2. Those who observe the first-day Sabbath. 3. Those who deny the existence of any Sabbath.[A] It is inevitable that controversy should exist between these parties. Their first appeal is to the Bible, and this should decide the case; for it reveals man's whole duty. But there is an appeal by the second party, and sometimes by the third, to another authority, the early fathers of the church, for the decision of the question. The controversy stands thus: The second and third parties agree with the first that God did anciently require the observance of the seventh day; but both deny the doctrine of the first, that he still requires men to hallow that day; the second asserting that he has changed the Sabbath to the first day of the week; and the third declaring that he has totally abolished the institution itself. The first class plant themselves upon the plain letter of the law of God, and adduce those scriptures which teach the perpetuity and immutability of the moral law, and which show that the new covenant does not abrogate that law, but puts it into the heart of every Christian. The second class attempt to prove the change of the Sabbath by quoting those texts which mention the first day of the week, and also those which are said to refer to it. The first day is, on such authority, called by this party the Christian Sabbath, and the fourth commandment is used by them to enforce this new Sabbath. The third class adduce those texts which assert the dissolution of the old covenant; and those which teach the abolition of the ceremonial law with all its distinction of days, as new moons, feast days, and annual sabbaths; and also those texts which declare that men cannot be justified by that law which condemns sin; and from all these contend that the law and the Sabbath are both abolished. But the first class answer to the second that the texts which they bring forward do not meet the case, inasmuch as they say nothing respecting the change of the Sabbath; and that it is not honest to use the fourth commandment to enforce the observance of a day not therein commanded. And the third class assent to this answer as truthful and just. To the position of the third class, the first make this answer: That the old covenant was made between God and his people _concerning_ his law;[B] that it ceased because the people failed in its conditions, the keeping of the commandments; that the new covenant does not abrogate the law of God, but secures obedience to it by putting it into the heart of every Christian; that there are two systems of law, one being made up of typical and ceremonial precepts, and the other consisting of moral principles only; that those texts which speak of the abrogation of the handwriting of ordinances and of the distinction in meats, drinks, and days, pertain alone to this shadowy system, and never to the moral law which contains the Sabbath of the Lord; and that it is not the fault of the law, but of sinners, that they are condemned by it; and that justification being attained only by the sacrifice of Christ as a sin offering, is in itself a most powerful attestation to the perpetuity, immutability, and perfection, of that law which reveals sin. And to this answer the second class heartily assent. But the second class have something further to say. The Bible, indeed, fails to assert the change of the Sabbath, but these persons have something else to offer, in their estimation, equally as good as the Scriptures. The early fathers of the church, who conversed with the apostles, or who conversed with some who had conversed with them, and those who followed for several generations, are by this class presented as authority, and their testimony is used to establish the so-called Christian Sabbath on a firm basis. And this is what they assert respecting the fathers: That they distinctly teach the change of the Sabbath from the seventh to the first day of the week, and that the first day is by divine authority the Christian Sabbath. But the third class squarely deny this statement, and affirm that the fathers held the Sabbath as an institution made for the Jews when they came out of Egypt, and that Christ abolished it at his death. They also assert that the fathers held the first day, not as a Sabbath in which men must not labor lest they break a divine precept, but as an ecclesiastical institution, which they called the Lord's day, and which was the proper day for religious assemblies because custom and tradition thus concurred. And so the third class answer the second by an explicit denial of its alleged facts. They also aim a blow at the first by the assertion that the early fathers taught the no-Sabbath doctrine, which must therefore be acknowledged as the real doctrine of the New Testament. And now the first class respond to these conflicting statements of the second and the third. And here is their response:-- 1. That our duty respecting the Sabbath, and respecting every other thing, can be learned only from the Scriptures. 2. That the first three hundred years after the apostles nearly accomplished the complete development of the great apostasy, which had commenced even in Paul's time; and this age of apostatizing cannot be good authority for making changes in the law of God. 3. That only a small proportion of the ministers and teachers of this period have transmitted any writings to our time; and these are generally fragments of the original works, and they have come down to us mainly through the hands of the Romanists, who have never scrupled to destroy or to corrupt that which witnesses against themselves, whenever it has been in their power to do it. 4. But inasmuch as these two classes, viz., those who maintain the first-day Sabbath, and those who deny the existence of any Sabbath, both appeal to these fathers for testimony with which to sustain themselves, and to put down the first class, viz., those who hallow the ancient Sabbath, it becomes necessary that the exact truth respecting the writings of that age, which now exist, should be shown. There is but one method of doing this which will effectually end the controversy. This is to give every one of their testimonies concerning the Sabbath and first-day in their own words. In doing this the following facts will appear:-- 1. That in some important particulars there is a marked disagreement on this subject among them. For while some teach that the Sabbath originated at creation and should be hallowed even now, others assert that it began with the fall of the manna, and ended with the death of Christ. And while one class represent Christ as a violator of the Sabbath, another class represent him as sacredly hallowing it, and a third class declare that he certainly did violate it, and that he certainly never did, but always observed it! Some of them also affirm that the Sabbath was abolished, and in other places positively affirm that it is perpetuated and made more sacred than it formerly was. Moreover, some assert that the ten commandments are absolutely abolished, whilst others declare that they are perpetuated, and are the tests of Christian character in this dispensation. Some call the day of Christ's resurrection the first day of the week; others call it the day of the sun, and the eighth day; and a larger number call it the Lord's day, but there are no examples of this application till the close of the second century. Some enjoin the observance of both the Sabbath and the first day, while others treat the seventh day as despicable. 2. But in several things of great importance there is perfect unity of sentiment. They always distinguish between the Sabbath and the first day of the week. The change of the Sabbath from the seventh day to the first is never mentioned in a single instance. They never term the first day the Christian Sabbath, nor do they treat it as a Sabbath of any kind. Nor is there a single declaration in any of them that labor on the first day of the week is sinful; the utmost that can be found being one or two vague expressions which do not necessarily have any such sense. 3. Many of the fathers call the first day of the week the Lord's day. But none of them claim for it any scriptural authority, and some expressly state that it has none whatever, but rests solely upon custom and tradition. 4. But the writings of the fathers furnish positive proof that the Sabbath was observed in the Christian church down to the time when they wrote, and by no inconsiderable part of that body. For some of them expressly enjoined its observance, and even some of those who held that it was abolished speak of Christians who observed it, whom they would consent to fellowship if they would not make it a test. 5. And now mark the work of apostasy: This work never begins by thrusting out God's institutions, but always by bringing in those of men and at first only asking that they may be tolerated, while yet the ones ordained of God are sacredly observed. This, in time, being effected, the next effort is to make them equal with the divine. When this has been accomplished, the third stage of the process is to honor them above those divinely commanded; and this is speedily succeeded by the fourth, in which the divine institution is thrust out with contempt, and the whole ground given to its human rival. 6. Before the first three centuries had expired, apostasy concerning the Sabbath had, with many of the fathers, advanced to the third stage, and with a considerable number had already entered upon the fourth. For those fathers who hallow the Sabbath do generally associate with it the festival called by them the Lord's day. And though they speak of the Sabbath as a divine institution, and never speak thus of the so-called Lord's day, they do, nevertheless, give the greater honor to this human festival. So far had the apostasy progressed before the end of the third century, that only one thing more was needed to accomplish the work as far as the Sabbath was concerned, and this was to discard it, and to honor the Sunday festival alone. Some of the fathers had already gone thus far; and the work became general within five centuries after Christ. 7. The modern church historians make very conflicting statements respecting the Sabbath during the first centuries. Some pass over it almost in silence, or indicate that it was, at most, observed only by Jewish Christians. Others, however, testify to its general observance by the Gentile Christians; yet some of these assert that the Sabbath was observed as a matter of expediency and not of moral obligation, because those who kept it did not believe the commandments were binding. (This is a great error, as will appear in due time.) What is said, however, by these modern historians is comparatively unimportant inasmuch as their sources of information were of necessity the very writings which are about to be quoted. 8. In the following pages will be found, in their own words, every statement[C] which the fathers of the first three centuries make by way of defining their views of the Sabbath and first-day. And even when they merely allude to either day in giving their views of other subjects, the nature of the allusion is stated, and, where practicable, the sentence or phrase containing it is quoted. The different writings are cited in the order in which they purport to have been written. A considerable number were not written by the persons to whom they were ascribed, but at a later date. As these have been largely quoted by first-day writers, they are here given in full. And even these writings possess a certain historical value. For though not written by the ones whose names they bear, they are known to have been in existence since the second or third century, and they give some idea of the views which then prevailed. First of all let us hear the so-called "Apostolical Constitutions." These were not the work of the apostles, but they were in existence as early as the third century, and were then very generally believed to express the doctrine of the apostles. They do therefore furnish important historical testimony to the practice of the church at that time. Mosheim in his Historical Commentaries, Cent. 1, sect. 51, speaks thus of these "Constitutions":-- "The matter of this work is unquestionably ancient; since the manners and discipline of which it exhibits a view are those which prevailed amongst the Christians of the second and third centuries, especially those resident in Greece and the oriental regions." Of the "Apostolical Constitutions," Guericke's Church History speaks thus:-- "This is a collection of ecclesiastical statutes purporting to be the work of the apostolic age, but in reality formed gradually in the second, third, and fourth centuries, and is of much value in reference to the history of polity, and Christian archæology generally."--_Ancient Church_, p. 212. CHAPTER II. TESTIMONY OF THE APOSTOLICAL CONSTITUTIONS. "Have before thine eyes the fear of God, and always remember the ten commandments of God,--to love the one and only Lord God with all thy strength; to give no heed to idols, or any other beings, as being lifeless gods, or irrational beings or dæmons. Consider the manifold workmanship of God, which received its beginning through Christ. Thou shalt observe the Sabbath, on account of Him who ceased from his work of creation, but ceased not from his work of providence: it is a rest for meditation of the law, not for idleness of the hands." Book ii., sect. 4, par. 36. This is sound Sabbatarian doctrine. But apostasy had begun its work in the establishment of the so-called Lord's day, which was destined in time to drive out the Sabbath. The next mention of the Sabbath also introduces the festival called Lord's day, but the reader will remember that this was written, not in the first century, but the third:-- "Let your judicatures be held on the second day of the week, that if any controversy arise about your sentence, having an interval till the Sabbath, you may be able to set the controversy right, and to reduce those to peace who have the contests one with another against the Lord's day." Book ii., sect. 6, par. 47. By the term Lord's day the first day of the week is here intended. But the writer does not call the first day the Sabbath, that term being applied to the seventh day. In section 7, paragraph 59, Christians are commanded to assemble for worship "every day, morning and evening, singing psalms and praying in the Lord's house: in the morning saying the sixty-second psalm, and in the evening the hundred and fortieth, but principally on the Sabbath day. And on the day of our Lord's resurrection, which is the Lord's day, meet more diligently, sending praise to God that made the universe by Jesus and sent him to us." "Otherwise what apology will he make to God who does not assemble on that day to hear the saving word concerning the resurrection, on which we pray thrice standing, in memory of him who arose in three days, in which is performed the reading of the prophets, the preaching of the gospel, the oblation of the sacrifice, the gift of the holy food." The writer of these "Constitutions" this time gives the first day great prominence, though still honoring the Sabbath, and by no means giving that title to Sunday. But in book v., section 2, paragraph 10, we have a singular testimony to the manner in which Sunday was spent. Thus the writer says:-- "Now we exhort you, brethren and fellow-servants, to avoid vain talk and obscene discourses, and jestings, drunkenness, lasciviousness, luxury, unbounded passions, with foolish discourses, since we do not permit you so much as on the Lord's days, which are days of joy, to speak or act anything unseemly." From this it appears that the so-called Lord's day was a day of greater mirth than the other days of the week. In book v., section 3, paragraph 14, it is said:-- "But when the first day of the week dawned he arose from the dead, and fulfilled those things which before his passion he foretold to us, saying: 'The Son of man must continue in the heart of the earth three days and three nights.'" In book v., section 3, paragraph 15, the writer names the days on which Christians should fast:-- "But he commanded us to fast on the fourth and sixth days of the week; the former on account of his being betrayed, and the latter on account of his passion. But he appointed us to break our fast on the seventh day at the cock-crowing, but to fast on the Sabbath day. Not that the Sabbath day is a day of fasting, being the rest from the creation, but because we ought to fast on this one Sabbath only, while on this day the Creator was under the earth." In paragraph 17, Christians are forbidden to "celebrate the day of the resurrection of our Lord on any other day than a Sunday." In paragraph 18, they are again charged to fast on that one Sabbath which comes in connection with the anniversary of our Lord's death. In paragraph 19, the first day of the week is four times called the Lord's day. The period of 40 days from his resurrection to his ascension is to be observed. The anniversary of Christ's resurrection is to be celebrated by the supper. "And let this be an everlasting ordinance till the consummation of the world, until the Lord come. For to Jews the Lord is still dead, but to Christians he is risen: to the former, by their unbelief; to the latter, by their full assurance of faith. For the hope in him is immortal and eternal life. After eight days let there be another feast observed with honor, the eighth day itself, on which he gave me, Thomas, who was hard of belief, full assurance, by showing me the print of the nails, and the wound made in his side by the spear. And again, from the first Lord's day count forty days, from the Lord's day till the fifth day of the week, and celebrate the feast of the ascension of the Lord, whereon he finished all his dispensation and constitution," etc. The things here commanded can come only once in a year. These are the anniversary of Christ's resurrection, and of that day on which he appeared to Thomas, and these were to be celebrated by the supper. The people were also to observe the day of the ascension on the fifth day of the week, forty days from his resurrection, on which day he finished his work. In paragraph 20, they are commanded to celebrate the anniversary of the Pentecost. "But after ten days from the ascension, which from the first Lord's day is the fiftieth day, do ye keep a great festival; for on that day, at the third hour, the Lord Jesus sent on us the gift of the Holy Ghost." This was not a weekly but a yearly festival. Fasting is also set forth in this paragraph, but every Sabbath except the one Christ lay in the tomb is exempted from this fast, and every so-called Lord's day:-- "We enjoin you to fast every fourth day of the week, and every day of the preparation [the sixth day], and the surplusage of your fast bestow upon the needy; every Sabbath day excepting one, and every Lord's day, hold your solemn assemblies, and rejoice; for he will be guilty of sin who fasts on the Lord's day, being the day of the resurrection, or during the time of Pentecost, or, in general, who is sad on a festival day to the Lord. For on them we ought to rejoice, and not to mourn." This writer asserts that it is a sin to fast or mourn on Sunday, but never intimates that it is a sin to labor on that day when not engaged in worship. We shall next learn that the decalogue is in agreement with the law of nature, and that it is of perpetual obligation:-- In book vi., section 4, paragraph 19, it is said: "He gave a plain law to assist the law of nature, such an one as is pure, saving, and holy, in which his own name was inscribed, perfect, which is never to fail, being complete in ten commands, unspotted, converting souls." In paragraph 20 it is said: "Now the law is the decalogue, which the Lord promulgated to them with an audible voice." In paragraph 22 he says: "You therefore are blessed who are delivered from the curse. For Christ, the Son of God, by his coming has confirmed and completed the law, but has taken away the additional precepts, although not all of them, yet at least the more grievous ones; having confirmed the former, and abolished the latter." And he further testifies as follows: "And besides, before his coming he refused the sacrifices of the people, while they frequently offered them, when they sinned against him, and thought he was to be appeased by sacrifices, but not by repentance." For this reason the writer truthfully testifies that God refused to accept their burnt-offerings and sacrifices, their new moons and their Sabbaths. In book vi., section 23, he says: "He who had commanded to honor our parents, was himself subject to them. He who had commanded to keep the Sabbath, by resting thereon for the sake of meditating on the laws, has now commanded us to consider of the law of creation, and of providence every day, and to return thanks to God." This savors somewhat of the doctrine that all days are alike. Yet this cannot be the meaning; for in book vii., section 2, paragraph 23, he enjoins the observance of the Sabbath, and also of the Lord's-day festival, but specifies one Sabbath in the year in which men should fast. Thus he says:-- "But keep the Sabbath, and the Lord's-day festival; because the former is the memorial of the creation, and the latter, of the resurrection. But there is one only Sabbath to be observed by you in the whole year, which is that of our Lord's burial, on which men ought to keep a fast, but not a festival. For inasmuch as the Creator was then under the earth, the sorrow for him is more forcible than the joy for the creation; for the Creator is more honorable by nature and dignity than his own creatures." In book vii., section 2, paragraph 30, he says: "On the day of the resurrection of the Lord, that is, the Lord's day, assemble yourselves together, without fail, giving thanks to God," etc. In paragraph 36, the writer brings in the Sabbath again: "O Lord Almighty, thou hast created the world by Christ, and hast appointed the Sabbath in memory thereof, because that on _that day_ thou hast made us _rest from our works_, for the meditation upon thy laws." In the same paragraph, in speaking of the resurrection of Christ, the writer says:-- "On which account we solemnly assemble to celebrate the feast of the resurrection on the Lord's day," etc. In the same paragraph he speaks again of the Sabbath: "Thou didst give them the law or decalogue, which was pronounced by thy voice and written with thy hand. Thou didst enjoin the observation of the Sabbath, not affording them an occasion of idleness, but an opportunity of piety, for their knowledge of thy power, and the prohibition of evils; having limited them as within an holy circuit for the sake of doctrine, for the rejoicing upon the seventh period." In this paragraph he also states his views of the Sabbath, and of the day which he calls the Lord's day, giving the precedence to the latter:-- "On this account he permitted men every Sabbath to rest, that so no one might be willing to send one word out of his mouth in anger on the day of the Sabbath. For the Sabbath is the ceasing of the creation, the completion of the world, the inquiry after laws, and the grateful praise to God for the blessings he has bestowed upon men. All which the Lord's day excels, and shows the Mediator himself, the Provider, the Law-giver, the Cause of the resurrection, the First-born of the whole creation," etc. And he adds: "So that the Lord's day commands us to offer unto thee, O Lord, thanksgiving for all. For this is the grace afforded by thee, which on account of its greatness has obscured all other blessings." It is certainly noteworthy that the so-called Lord's day, for which no divine warrant is produced, is here exalted above the Sabbath of the Lord notwithstanding the Sabbath is acknowledged to be the divine memorial of the creation, and to be expressly enjoined in the decalogue, which the writer declares to be of perpetual obligation. Tested by his own principles, he had far advanced in apostasy; for he held a human festival more honorable than one which he acknowledged to be ordained of God; and only a single step remained; viz., to set aside the commandment of God for the ordinance of man. In book viii., section 2, paragraph 4, it is said, when a bishop has been chosen and is to be ordained,-- "Let the people assemble, with the presbytery and bishops that are present, on the Lord's day, and let them give their consent." In book viii., section 4, paragraph 33, occurs the final mention of these two days in the so-called "Apostolical Constitutions." "Let the slaves work five days; but on the Sabbath day and the Lord's day let them have leisure to go to church for instruction in piety. We have said that the Sabbath is on account of the creation, and the Lord's day, of the resurrection." To this may be added the 64th Canon of the Apostles, which is appended to the "Constitutions":-- "If any one of the clergy be found to fast on the Lord's day, or on the Sabbath day, excepting one only, let him be deprived; but if he be one of the laity, let him be suspended." Every mention of the Sabbath and first-day in that ancient book called "Apostolical Constitutions" is now before the reader. This book comes down to us from the third century, and contains what was at that time very generally believed to be the doctrine of the apostles. It is therefore valuable to us, not as authority respecting the teaching of the apostles, but as giving us a knowledge of the views and practices which prevailed in the third century. At the time these "Constitutions" were put in writing, the ten commandments were revered as the immutable rule of right, and the Sabbath of the Lord was by many observed as an act of obedience to the fourth commandment, and as the divine memorial of the creation. But the first-day festival had already attained such strength and influence as to clearly indicate that ere long it would claim the entire ground. But observe that the Sabbath and the so-called Lord's day are treated as distinct institutions, and that no hint of the change of the Sabbath to the first day of the week is ever once given. The "Apostolical Constitutions" are cited first, not because written by the apostles, but because of their title. For the same reason the so-called Epistle of Barnabas is quoted next, not because written by that apostle, for the proof is ample that it was not, but because it is often quoted by first-day writers as the words of the apostle Barnabas. It was in existence, however, as early as the middle of the second century, and, like the "Apostolical Constitutions," is of value to us in that it gives some clue to the opinions which prevailed in the region where the writer lived, or at least which were held by his party. CHAPTER III. Barnabas--Pliny--Ignatius--The Church at Smyrna--The Epistle to Diognetus--Recognitions of Clement--Syriac Documents concerning Edessa. TESTIMONY OF THE EPISTLE OF BARNABAS. In his second chapter this writer speaks thus:-- "For he hath revealed to us by all the prophets that he needs neither sacrifices, nor burnt-offerings, nor oblations, saying thus, 'What is the multitude of your sacrifices unto me, saith the Lord? I am full of burnt-offerings, and desire not the fat of lambs, and the blood of bulls and goats, not when ye come to appear before me: for who hath required these things at your hands? Tread no more my courts, not though ye bring with you fine flour. Incense is a vain abomination unto me, and your new moons and Sabbaths I cannot endure.' He has therefore abolished these things, that the new law of our Lord Jesus Christ, which is without the yoke of necessity, might have a human oblation." The writer may have intended to assert the abolition of the sacrifices only, as this was his special theme in this place. But he presently asserts the abolition of the Sabbath of the Lord. Here is his fifteenth chapter entire:-- "Further, also, it is written concerning the Sabbath in the decalogue which [the Lord] spoke, face to face, to Moses on Mount Sinai, 'And sanctify ye the Sabbath of the Lord with clean hands and a pure heart.' And he says in another place, 'If my sons keep the Sabbath, then will I cause my mercy to rest upon them.' The Sabbath is mentioned at the beginning of the creation [thus]: 'And God made in six days the works of his hands, and made an end on the seventh day, and rested on it, and sanctified it.' Attend, my children, to the meaning of this expression, 'He finished in six days.' This implieth that the Lord will finish all things in six thousand years, for a day is with him a thousand years. And he himself testifieth, saying, 'Behold to-day will be as a thousand years.' Therefore, my children, in six days, that is, in six thousand years, all things will be finished. 'And he rested on the seventh day.' This meaneth: when his Son, coming [again], shall destroy the time of the wicked man, and judge the ungodly, and change the sun, and the moon, and the stars, then shall he truly rest on the seventh day. Moreover, he says, 'Thou shalt sanctify it with pure hands and a pure heart.' If, therefore, any one can now sanctify the day which God hath sanctified, except he is pure in heart in all things, we are deceived. Behold, therefore: certainly then one properly resting sanctifies it, when we ourselves, having received the promise, wickedness no longer existing, and all things having been made new by the Lord, shall be able to work righteousness. Then we shall be able to sanctify it, having been first sanctified ourselves. Further, he says to them, 'Your new moons and your Sabbaths I cannot endure.' Ye perceive how he speaks: Your present Sabbaths are not acceptable to me, but that is which I have made [namely this], when, giving rest to all things, I shall make a beginning of the eighth day, that is, a beginning of another world. Wherefore, also, we keep the eighth day with joyfulness, the day, also, on which Jesus rose again from the dead. And when he had manifested himself, he ascended into the heavens." Here are some very strange specimens of reasoning. The substance of what he says relative to the present observance of the Sabbath appears to be this: No one "can now sanctify the day which God hath sanctified except he is pure in heart in all things." But this cannot be the case until the present world shall pass away, "when we ourselves, having received the promise, wickedness no longer existing, and _all things having been made new_ by the Lord, shall be able to work righteousness. Then we shall be able to sanctify it, having been first sanctified ourselves." Men cannot therefore keep the Sabbath while this wicked world lasts. And so he says, "Your present Sabbaths are not acceptable to me." That is to say, the keeping of the day which God has sanctified is not possible in such a wicked world. But though the seventh day cannot now be kept, the eighth day can be, and ought to be, because when the seventh thousand years are past there will be at the beginning of the eighth thousand the new creation. So the persons represented by this writer, do not attempt to keep the seventh day which God sanctified, for that is too pure to keep in this world, and can only be kept after the Saviour comes at the commencement of the seventh thousand years; but they "keep the eighth day with joyfulness, the day also on which Jesus rose again from the dead." Sunday, which God never sanctified, is exactly suitable for observance in the world as it now is. But the sanctified seventh day "we shall be able to sanctify" when all things have been made new. If our first-day friends think these words of some unknown writer of the second century more honorable to the first day of the week than to the seventh, they are welcome to them. Had the writer said, "It is easier to keep Sunday than the Sabbath while the world is so wicked," he would have stated the truth. But when in substance he says, "It is more acceptable to God to keep a common than a sanctified day while men are so sinful," he excuses his disobedience by uttering a falsehood. Several things however should be noted:-- 1. In this quotation we have the reasons of a no-Sabbath man for keeping the festival of Sunday. It is not God's commandment, for there was none for that festival; but the day God hallowed being too pure to keep while the world is so wicked, Sunday is therefore kept till the return of the Lord, and then the seventh day shall be truly sanctified by those who now regard it not. 2. But this writer, though saying what he is able in behalf of the first day of the week, applies to it no sacred name. He does not call it Christian Sabbath, nor Lord's day, but simply "the eighth day," and this because it succeeds the seventh day of the week. 3. It is also to be noticed that he expressly dates the Sabbath from the creation. 4. The change of the Sabbath was unknown to this writer. He kept the Sunday festival, not because it was purer than the sanctified seventh day, but because the seventh day was too pure to keep while the world is so wicked. TESTIMONY OF THE EPISTLE OF PLINY. Pliny was the Roman governor of Bithynia in the years 103 and 104. He wrote a letter to the emperor Trajan, in which he states what he had learned of the Christians as the result of examining them at his tribunal:-- "They affirmed that the whole of their guilt or error was, that they met on a certain stated day [_stato die_], before it was light, and addressed themselves in a form of prayer to Christ, as to some God, binding themselves by a solemn oath, not for the purposes of any wicked design, but never to commit any fraud, theft, or adultery; never to falsify their word, nor deny a trust when they should be called upon to deliver it up; after which it was their custom to separate, and then reassemble to eat in common a harmless meal."--_Coleman's Ancient Christianity_, chap. i. sect. 1. The letter of Pliny is often referred to as though it testified that the Christians of Bithynia celebrated the first day of the week. Yet such is by no means the case, as the reader can plainly see. Coleman says of it (page 528):-- "This statement is evidence that these Christians kept a day as holy time, but whether it was the last, or the first day of the week, does not appear." Such is the judgment of an able, candid, first-day church historian of good repute as a scholar. An anti-Sabbatarian writer of some repute speaks thus:-- "As the Sabbath day appears to have been quite as commonly observed at this date as the Sun's day (if not even more so), it is just as probable that this 'stated day' referred to by Pliny was the _seventh_ day, as that it was the _first_ day; though the latter is generally taken for granted."--_Obligation of the Sabbath_, p. 300. Every candid person must acknowledge that it is unjust to represent the letter of Pliny as testifying in behalf of the so-called Christian Sabbath. Next in order of time come the reputed epistles of Ignatius. TESTIMONY OF THE EPISTLES OF IGNATIUS. Of the fifteen epistles ascribed to Ignatius, eight are, by universal consent, accounted spurious; and eminent scholars have questioned the genuineness of the remaining seven. There are, however, two forms to these seven, a longer and a shorter, and while some doubt exists as to the shorter form, the longer form is by common consent ascribed to a later age than that of Ignatius. But the epistle to the Magnesians, which exists both in the longer and in the shorter form, is the one from which first-day writers obtain Ignatius' testimony in behalf of Sunday, and they quote for this both these forms. We therefore give both. Here is the shorter:-- "For the divinest prophets lived according to Christ Jesus. On this account also they were persecuted, being inspired by his grace to fully convince the unbelieving that there is one God, who has manifested himself by Jesus Christ his Son, who is his eternal Word, not proceeding forth from silence, and who in all things pleased him that sent him. If, therefore, those who were brought up in the ancient order of things have come to the possession of a new hope, no longer observing the Sabbath, but living in the observance of the Lord's day, on which also our life has sprung again by him and by his death--whom some deny, by which mystery we have obtained faith, and therefore endure, that we may be found the disciples of Jesus Christ, our only master--how shall we be able to live apart from him, whose disciples the prophets themselves in the Spirit did wait for him as their teacher? And therefore he whom they rightly waited for, being come, raised them from the dead." Chaps. viii. and ix. This paragraph is the one out of which a part of a sentence is quoted to show that Ignatius testifies in behalf of the Lord's-day festival, or Christian Sabbath. But the so-called Lord's day is only brought in by means of a false translation. This is the decisive sentence: #mêketi sabbatizontes, alla kata kyriakên zôên zôntes#; literally: "no longer sabbatizing, but living according to Lord's life." Eminent first-day scholars have called attention to this fact, and have testified explicitly that the term Lord's day has no right to appear in the translation; for the original is not #kyriakên hêmeran#, Lord's day, but #kyriakên zôên#, Lord's life. This is absolutely decisive, and shows that something akin to fraud has to be used in order to find a reference in this place to the so-called Christian Sabbath. But there is another fact quite as much to the point. The writer was not speaking of those then alive, but of the ancient prophets. This is proved by the opening and closing words of the above quotation, which first-day writers always omit. The so-called Lord's day is inserted by a fraudulent translation; and now see what absurdity comes of it. The writer is speaking of the ancient prophets. If, therefore, the Sunday festival be inserted in this quotation from Ignatius he is made to declare that "the divinest prophets," who "were brought up in the ancient order of things," kept the first day and did not keep the Sabbath! Whereas, the truth is just the reverse of this. They certainly did keep the Sabbath, and did not keep the first day of the week. The writer speaks of the point when these men came "to the newness of hope," which must be their individual conversion to God. They certainly did observe and enforce the Sabbath after this act of conversion. See Isa., chaps. 56, 58; Jer. 17; Eze., chaps. 20, 22, 23. But they did also, as this writer truly affirms, live according to the Lord's life. The sense of the writer respecting the prophets must therefore be this: "No longer [after their conversion to God] observing the Sabbath [merely, as natural men] but living according to the Lord's life," or "according to Christ Jesus." So much for the shorter form of the epistle to the Magnesians. Though the longer form is by almost universal consent of scholars and critics pronounced the work of some centuries after the time of Ignatius, yet as a portion of this also is often given by first-day writers to support Sunday, and given too as the words of Ignatius, we here present in full its reference to the first day of the week, and also to the Sabbath, which they generally omit. Here are its statements:-- "Let us therefore no longer keep the Sabbath after the Jewish manner, and rejoice in days of idleness; for 'he that does not work, let him not eat.' For, say the [holy] oracles, 'In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat thy bread.' But let every one of you keep the Sabbath after a spiritual manner, rejoicing in meditation on the law, not in relaxation of the body, admiring the workmanship of God, and not eating things prepared the day before, nor using lukewarm drinks, and walking within a prescribed space, nor finding delight in dancing and plaudits which have no sense in them. And after the observance of the Sabbath, let every friend of Christ keep the Lord's day as a festival, the resurrection day, the queen and chief of all the days [of the week]. Looking forward to this, the prophet declared, 'To the end, for the eighth day,' on which our life both sprang up again, and the victory over death was obtained in Christ," etc. Chapter ix. This epistle, though the work of a later hand than that of Ignatius, is valuable for the light which it sheds upon the state of things when it was written. It gives us a correct idea of the progress of apostasy with respect to the Sabbath in the time of the writer. He speaks against Jewish superstition in the observance of the Sabbath, and condemns days of idleness as contrary to the declaration, "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat thy bread." But by days of idleness he cannot refer to the Sabbath, for this would be to make the fourth commandment clash with this text, whereas they must harmonize, inasmuch as they existed together during the former dispensation. Moreover, the Sabbath, though a day of abstinence from labor, is not a day of idleness, but of active participation in religious duties. He enjoins its observance after a spiritual manner. And after the Sabbath has been thus observed, "let every friend of Christ keep the Lord's day _as a festival_, the resurrection day, the queen and chief of all the days." The divine institution of the Sabbath was not yet done away, but the human institution of Sunday had become its equal, and was even commended above it. Not long after this, it took the whole ground, and the observance of the Sabbath was denounced as heretical and pernicious. The reputed epistle of Ignatius to the Trallians in its shorter form does not allude to this subject. In its longer form, which is admitted to be the work of a later age than that of Ignatius, these expressions are found:-- "During the Sabbath, he continued under the earth;" "at the dawning of the Lord's day he arose from the dead;" "the Sabbath embraces the burial; the Lord's day contains the resurrection." Chap. ix. In the epistle to the Philippians, which is universally acknowledged to be the work of a later person than Ignatius, it is said:-- "If any one fasts on the Lord's day or on the Sabbath, except on the paschal Sabbath only, he is a murderer of Christ." Chap. xiii. We have now given every allusion to the Sabbath and first-day that can be found in any writing attributed to Ignatius. We have seen that the term "Lord's day" is not found in any sentence written by him. The first day is never called the Christian Sabbath, not even in the writings falsely attributed to him; nor is there in any of them a hint of the modern doctrine of the change of the Sabbath. Though falsely ascribed to Ignatius, and actually written in a later age, they are valuable in that they mark the progress of apostasy in the establishment of the Sunday festival. Moreover, they furnish conclusive evidence that the ancient Sabbath was retained for centuries in the so-called Catholic church, and that the Sunday festival was an institution entirely distinct from the Sabbath of the fourth commandment. TESTIMONY OF THE CHURCH AT SMYRNA. The epistle of Polycarp makes no reference to the Sabbath nor to the first day of the week. But "the encyclical epistle of the church at Smyrna concerning the martyrdom of the holy Polycarp," informs us that "the blessed Polycarp suffered martyrdom" "on the great Sabbath at the eighth hour." Chapter xxi. The margin says: "The great Sabbath is that before the passover." This day, thus mentioned, is not Sunday, but is the ancient Sabbath of the Lord. TESTIMONY OF THE EPISTLE TO DIOGNETUS. This was written by an unknown author, and Diognetus himself is known only by name, no facts concerning him having come down to us. It dates from the first part of the second century. The writer speaks of "the superstition as respects the Sabbaths" which the Jews manifested, and he adds these words: "To speak falsely of God, as if he forbade us to do what is good on the Sabbath days--how is not this impious?" But there is nothing in this to which a commandment-keeper would object, or which he might not freely utter. The "Recognitions of Clement" is a kind of philosophical and theological romance. It purports to have been written by Clement of Rome, in the time of the apostle Peter, but was actually written "somewhere in the first half of the third century." TESTIMONY OF THE RECOGNITIONS OF CLEMENT. In book i., chapter xxxv., he speaks of the giving of the law thus:-- "Meantime they came to Mount Sinai, and thence the law was given to them with voices and sights from heaven, written in ten precepts, of which the first and greatest was that they should worship God himself alone," etc. In book iii., chapter lv., he speaks of these precepts as tests: "On account of those, therefore, who by neglect of their own salvation please the evil one, and those who by study of their own profit seek to please the good One, ten things have been prescribed as a test to this present age, according to the number of the ten plagues which were brought upon Egypt." In book ix., chapter xxviii., he says of the Hebrews, "that no child born among them is ever exposed, and that on every seventh day they all rest," etc. In book x., chap. lxxii., is given the conversion of one Faustinianus by St. Peter. And it is said, "He proclaimed a fast to all the people, and on the next Lord's day he baptized him." This is all that I find in this work relating to the Sabbath and the so-called Lord's day. The writer held the ten commandments to be tests of character in the present dispensation. There is no reason to believe that he, or any other person in that age, held the Sunday festival as something to be observed in obedience to the fourth commandment. TESTIMONY OF THE SYRIAC DOCUMENTS CONCERNING EDESSA. On pages 35-55 of this work is given what purports to be "The Teaching of the Apostles." On page 36, the ascension of the Lord is said to have been upon the "first day of the week, and the end of the Pentecost." Two manifest falsehoods are here uttered; for the ascension was upon Thursday, and the Pentecost came ten days after the ascension. It is also said that the disciples came from Nazareth of Galilee to the mount of Olives on that selfsame day before the ascension, and yet that the ascension was "at the time of the early dawn." But Nazareth was distant from the mount of Olives at least sixty miles! On page 38, a commandment from the apostles is given: "On the first [day] of the week, let there be service, and the reading of the holy Scriptures, and the oblation," because Christ arose on that day, was born on that day, ascended on that day, and will come again on that day. But here is one truth, one falsehood, and two mere assertions. The apostles are represented, on page 39, as commanding a fast of forty days, and they add: "Then celebrate the day of the passion [Friday], and the day of the resurrection," Sunday. But this would be only an annual celebration of these days. And on pages 38 and 39 they are also represented as commanding service to be held on the fourth and sixth days of the week. The Sabbath is not mentioned in these "Documents," which were written about the commencement of the fourth century, when, in many parts of the world, that day had ceased to be hallowed. CHAPTER IV. TESTIMONY OF JUSTIN MARTYR. Justin's "Apology" was written at Rome about the year 140. His "Dialogue with Trypho the Jew" was written some years later. In searching his works, we shall see how much greater progress apostasy had made at Rome than in the countries where those lived whose writings we have been examining. And yet nearly all these writings were composed at least a century later than those of Justin, though we have quoted them before quoting his, because of their asserted apostolic origin, or of their asserted origin within a few years of the times of the apostles. It does not appear that Justin, and those at Rome who held with him in doctrine, paid the slightest regard to the ancient Sabbath. He speaks of it as abolished, and treats it with contempt. Unlike some whose writings have been examined, he denies that it originated at creation, and asserts that it was made in the days of Moses. He also differs with some already quoted in that he denies the perpetuity of the law of ten commandments. In his estimation, the Sabbath was a Jewish institution, absolutely unknown to good men before the time of Moses, and of no authority whatever since the death of Christ. The idea of the change of the Sabbath from the seventh day of the week to the first, is not only never found in his writings, but is absolutely irreconcilable with such statements as the foregoing, which abound therein. And yet Justin Martyr is prominently and constantly cited in behalf of the so-called Christian Sabbath. The Roman people observed a festival on the first day of the week in honor of the sun. And so Justin in his Apology, addressed to the emperor of Rome, tells that monarch that the Christians met on "the day of the sun," for worship. He gives the day no sacred title, and does not even intimate that it was a day of abstinence from labor, only as they spent a portion of it in worship. Here are the words of his Apology on the Sunday festival:-- "And on the day called Sunday, all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray, and, as we before said, when our prayer is ended, bread and wine and water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability, and the people assent, saying, Amen; and there is a distribution to each, and a participation of that over which thanks have been given, and to those who are absent a portion is sent by the deacons. And they who are well to do, and willing, give what each thinks fit; and what is collected is deposited with the president, who succors the orphans and widows, and those who, through sickness or any other cause, are in want, and those who are in bonds, and the strangers sojourning among us, and, in a word, takes care of all who are in need. But Sunday is the day on which we all hold our common assembly, because it is the first day on which God, having wrought a change in the darkness and matter, made the world; and Jesus Christ our Saviour on the same day rose from the dead. For he was crucified on the day before that of Saturn (Saturday); and on the day after that of Saturn, which is the day of the sun, having appeared to his apostles and disciples, he taught them these things, which we have submitted to you also for your consideration." Chap. lxvii. Not one word of this indicates that Justin considered the Sunday festival as a continuation of the Sabbath of the fourth commandment. On the contrary, he shows clearly that no such idea was cherished by him. For though the fourth commandment enjoins the observance of the seventh day because _God rested on that day_ from the work of creation, Justin urged in behalf of the Sunday festival that it is _the day on which he began his work_. The honor paid to that festival was not therefore in Justin's estimation in any sense an act of obedience to the fourth commandment. He mentions as his other reason for the celebration by Christians of "the day of the sun," that the Saviour arose that day. But he claims no divine or apostolic precept for this celebration; the things which he says Christ taught his apostles being the doctrines which he had embodied in this Apology for the information of the emperor. And it is worthy of notice that though first-day writers assert that "Lord's day" was the familiar title of the first day of the week in the time of the Apocalypse, yet Justin, who is the first person after the sacred writers that mentions the first day, and this at a distance of only 44 years from the date of John's vision upon Patmos, does not call it by that title, but by the name which it bore as a heathen festival! If it be said that the term was omitted because he was addressing a heathen emperor, there still remains the fact that he mentions the day quite a number of times in his "Dialogue with Trypho," and yet never calls it "Lord's day," nor indeed does he call it by any name implying sacredness. Now we present the statements concerning the Sabbath and first-day found in his "Dialogue with Trypho the Jew." The impropriety, not to say dishonesty, of quoting Justin in behalf of the modern doctrine of the change of the Sabbath, will be obvious to all. He was a most decided no-law, no-Sabbath writer, who used the day commonly honored as a festival by the Romans, as the most suitable, or most convenient, day for public worship, a position identical with that of modern no-Sabbath men. Justin may be called a law man in this sense, however, that while he abolishes the ten commandments, he calls the gospel "the new law." He is therefore really one who believes in the gospel and denies the law. But let us hear his own words. Trypho, having in chapter viii. advised Justin to observe the Sabbath, and "do all things which have been written in the law," in chapter x. says to him, "You observe no festivals or Sabbaths." This was exactly adapted to bring out from Justin the answer that though he did not observe the seventh day as the Sabbath, he did thus rest on the first day, if it were true that that day was with him a day of abstinence from labor. And now observe Justin's answer given in chapter twelve:-- "The new law requires you to keep perpetual Sabbath, and you, because you are idle for one day, suppose you are pious, not discerning why this has been commanded you; and if you eat unleavened bread, you say the will of God has been fulfilled. The Lord our God does not take pleasure in such observances: if there is any perjured person or a thief among you, let him cease to be so; if any adulterer, let him repent; then he has kept the sweet and true Sabbaths of God." This language plainly implies that Justin held all days to be alike, and did not observe any one day as a day of abstinence from labor. But in chapter xviii., Justin asserts that the Sabbaths--and he doubtless includes the weekly with the annual--were enjoined upon the Jews for their wickedness:-- "For we too would observe the fleshly circumcision, and the Sabbaths, and in short, all the feasts, if we did not know for what reason they were enjoined you--namely, on account of your transgressions and the hardness of your hearts. For if we patiently endure all things contrived against us by wicked men and demons, so that amid cruelties unutterable, death and torments, we pray for mercy to those who inflict such things upon us, and do not wish to give the least retort to any one, even as the new Law-giver commanded us: how is it, Trypho, that we would not observe those rites which do not harm us--I speak of fleshly circumcision, and Sabbaths, and feasts?" Not only does he declare that the Jews were commanded to keep the Sabbath because of their wickedness, but in chapter xix. he denies that any Sabbath existed before Moses. Thus, after naming Adam, Abel, Enoch, Lot, and Melchizedek, he says:-- "Moreover, all those righteous men already mentioned, though they kept no Sabbaths, were pleasing to God." But though he thus denies the Sabbatic institution before the time of Moses, he presently makes this statement concerning the Jews:-- "And you were commanded to keep Sabbaths, that you might retain the memorial of God. For his word makes this announcement, saying, 'That ye may know that I am God who redeemed you.'" [Eze. 20:12.] The Sabbath is indeed the memorial of the God that made the heavens and the earth. And what an absurdity to deny that that memorial was set up when the creative work was done, and to affirm that twenty-five hundred years intervened between the work and the memorial! In chapter xxi. Justin asserts "that God enjoined you [the Jews] to keep the Sabbath, and imposed on you other precepts for a sign, as I have already said, on account of your unrighteousness, and that of your fathers," &c., and quotes Ezekiel 20 to prove it. Yet that chapter declares that it was in order that they might know who was that being who sanctified them, _i. e._, that they might know that their God was the Creator, that the Sabbath was made to them a sign. In chapter xxiii., he again asserts that "in the times of Enoch" no one "observed Sabbaths." He then protests against Sabbatic observance as follows:-- "Do you see that the elements are not idle, and keep no Sabbaths? Remain as you were born. For if there was no need of circumcision before Abraham, or of the observance of Sabbaths, of feasts and sacrifices, before Moses; no more need is there of them now, after that, according to the will of God, Jesus Christ the Son of God has been born without sin, of a virgin sprung from the stock of Abraham." That is to say, there was no Sabbatic institution before Moses, and neither is there any since Christ. But in chapter xxiv., Justin undertakes to bring in an argument for Sunday, not as a Sabbath, but as having greater mystery in it, and as being more honorable than the seventh day. Thus, alluding to circumcision on the eighth day of a child's life as an argument for the first-day festival, he says:-- "It is possible for us to show how the eighth day possessed a certain mysterious import, which the seventh day did not possess, and which was promulgated by God through these rites." That is to say, because God commanded the Hebrews to circumcise their children when they were eight days old, therefore all men should now esteem the first day of the week more honorable than the seventh day, which he commanded in the moral law, and which Justin himself, in chapter xix., terms "the memorial of God." In chapter xxvi., Justin says to Trypho that-- "The Gentiles, who have believed on him, and have repented of the sins which they have committed, they shall receive the inheritance along with the patriarchs and the prophets, and the just men who are descended from Jacob, even although they neither keep the Sabbath, nor are circumcised, nor observe the feasts." And in proof of this, he quotes from Isa. 42, and 62, and 63, respecting the call of the Gentiles. Upon this (chapter xxvii.), Trypho the Jew very pertinently asks:-- "Why do you select and quote whatever you wish from the prophetic writings, but do not refer to those which expressly command the Sabbath to be observed? For Isaiah thus speaks [chap. 58:13, 14], 'If thou shalt turn away thy foot from the Sabbath,'" etc. To which Justin makes this uncandid answer:-- "I have passed them by, my friends, not because such prophecies were contrary to me, but because you have understood, and do understand, that although God commands you by all the prophets to do the same things which he also commanded by Moses, it was on account of the hardness of your hearts, and your ingratitude towards him, that he continually proclaims them, in order that, even in this way, if you repented, you might please him, and neither sacrifice your children to demons, nor be partakers with thieves," etc. And he adds: "So that, as in the beginning, these things were enjoined you because of your wickedness, in like manner, because of your steadfastness in it, or rather your increased proneness to it, by means of the same precepts, he calls you [by the prophets] to a remembrance or knowledge of it." These are bitter words from a Gentile who had been a pagan philosopher, and they are in no sense a just answer unless it can be shown that the law was given to the Jews because they were so wicked, and was withheld from the Gentiles because they were so righteous. The truth is just the reverse of this. Eph. 2. But to say something against the Sabbath, Justin asks:-- "Did God wish the priests to sin when they offer the sacrifices on the Sabbaths? or those to sin, who are circumcised and do circumcise on the Sabbaths; since he commands that on the eighth day--even though it happen to be a Sabbath--those who are born shall be always circumcised?" And he asks if the rite could not be one day earlier or later, and why those "who lived before Moses" "observed no Sabbaths?" What Justin says concerning circumcision and sacrifices is absolutely without weight as an objection to the Sabbath, inasmuch as the commandment forbids, not the performance of religious duties, but our own work. Ex. 20:8-11. And his often repeated declaration that good men before the time of Moses did not keep the Sabbath, is mere assertion, inasmuch as God appointed it to a holy use in the time of Adam, and we do know of some in the patriarchal age who kept God's commandments, and were perfect before him. In chapter xxix., Justin sneers at Sabbatic observance by saying, "Think it not strange that we drink hot water on the Sabbaths." And as arguments against the Sabbath he says that God "directs the government of the universe on this day equally as on all others," as though this were inconsistent with the present sacredness of the Sabbath, when it was also true that God thus governed the world in the period when Justin acknowledges the Sabbath to have been obligatory. And he again refers to the sacrifices and to those who lived in the patriarchal age. In chapter xli., Justin again brings forward his argument for Sunday from circumcision:-- "The command of circumcision, again, bidding [them] always circumcise the children on the eighth day, was a type of the true circumcision, by which we are circumcised from deceit and iniquity through Him who rose from the dead on the first day after the Sabbath [namely, through], our Lord Jesus Christ. For the first day after the Sabbath, remaining the first of all the days, is called, however, the eighth, according to the number of all the days of the cycle, and [yet] remains the first." Sunday-keeping must be closely related to infant baptism, inasmuch as one of the chief arguments in modern times for the baptism of infants is drawn from the fact that God commanded the Hebrews to circumcise their male children; and Justin found his scriptural authority for first-day observance in the fact that this rite was to be performed when the child was eight days old! Yet this eighth day did not come on one day of the week, only, but on every day, and when it came on the seventh day it furnished Justin with an argument against the sacredness of the Sabbath! But let it come on what day of the week it might (and it came on all alike), it was an argument for Sunday! O wonderful _eighth_ day, that can thrive on that which is positively fatal to the seventh, and that can come every week on the first day thereof, though there be only seven days in each week! In chapters xliii., and xlvi., and xcii., Justin reiterates the assertion that those who lived in the patriarchal age did not hallow the Sabbath. But as he adds no new thought to what has been already quoted from him, these need not be copied. But in chapter xlvii., we have something of interest. Trypho asks Justin whether those who believe in Christ, and obey him, but who wish to "observe these [institutions] will be saved?" Justin answers: "In my opinion, Trypho, such an one will be saved, if he does not strive in every way to persuade other men ... to observe the same things as himself, telling them that they will not be saved unless they do so." Trypho replied, "Why then have you said, 'In my opinion, such an one will be saved,' unless there are some who affirm that such will not be saved?" In reply, Justin tells Trypho that there were those who would have no intercourse with, nor even extend hospitality to, such Christians as observed the law. And for himself he says:-- "But if some, through weak-mindedness, wish to observe such institutions as were given by Moses (from which they expect some virtue, but which we believe were appointed by reason of the hardness of the people's hearts), along with their hope in this Christ, and [wish to perform] the eternal and natural acts of righteousness and piety, yet choose to live with the Christians and the faithful, as I said before, not inducing them either to be circumcised like themselves, or to keep the Sabbath, or to observe any other such ceremonies, then I hold that we ought to join ourselves to such, and associate with them in all things as kinsmen and brethren." Justin's language shows that there were Sabbath-keeping Christians in his time. Such of them as were of Jewish descent no doubt generally retained circumcision. But it is very unjust in him to represent the Gentile Sabbath-keepers as observing this rite. That there were many of these is evident from the so-called "Apostolical Constitutions," and even from the Ignatian Epistles. One good thing, however, Justin does say. The keeping of the commandments he terms the performance of "the eternal and natural acts of righteousness." He would consent to fellowship those who do these things provided they made them no test for others. He well knew in such case that the Sabbath would die out in a little time. Himself and the more popular party at Rome honored as their festival the day observed by the heathen Romans, as he reminds the emperor in his Apology, and he was willing to fellowship the Sabbath-keepers if they would not test him by the commandments, _i. e._, if they would fellowship him in violating them. That Justin held to the abrogation of the ten commandments is also manifest. Trypho, in the tenth chapter of the Dialogue, having said to Justin, "You do not obey his commandments," and again, "You do not observe the law," Justin answers in chapter xi. as follows:-- "But we do not trust through Moses, or through the law; for then we would do the same as yourselves. But now--for I have read that there shall be a final law, and a covenant, the chiefest of all, which it is now incumbent on all men to observe, as many as are seeking after the inheritance of God. For the law promulgated on Horeb is now old, and belongs to yourselves alone; but this is for all universally. Now, law placed against law has abrogated that which is before it, and a covenant which comes after in like manner has put an end to the previous one." We must, therefore, pronounce Justin a man who held to the abrogation of the ten commandments, and that the Sabbath was a Jewish institution which was unknown before Moses, and of no authority since Christ. He held Sunday to be the most suitable day for public worship, but not upon the ground that the Sabbath had been changed to it, for he cuts up the Sabbatic institution by the roots; and so far is he from calling this day the Christian Sabbath that he gives to it the name which it bore as a heathen festival. CHAPTER V. Irenæus--Dionysius--Melito--Bardesanes. TESTIMONY OF IRENÆUS. This father was born "somewhere between A. D. 120 and A. D. 140." He was "bishop of Lyons in France during the latter quarter of the second century," being ordained to that office "probably about A. D. 177." His work _Against Heresies_ was written "between A. D. 182 and A. D. 188." First-day writers assert that Irenæus "says that the Lord's day was the Christian Sabbath." They profess to quote from him these words: "On the Lord's day every one of us Christians keeps the Sabbath, meditating on the law and rejoicing in the works of God." No such language is found in any of the writings of this father. We will quote his entire testimony respecting the Sabbath and first-day, and the reader can judge. He speaks of Christ's observance of the Sabbath, and shows that he did not violate the day. Thus he says:-- "It is clear, therefore, that he loosed and vivified those who believe in him as Abraham did, doing nothing contrary to the law when he healed upon the Sabbath day. For the law did not prohibit men from being healed upon the Sabbaths; [on the contrary] it even circumcised them upon that day, and gave command that the offices should be performed by the priests for the people; yea, it did not disallow the healing even of dumb animals. Both at Siloam and on frequent subsequent occasions, did he perform cures upon the Sabbath; and for this reason many used to resort to him on the Sabbath days. For the law commanded them to abstain from every servile work, that is, from all grasping after wealth which is procured by trading and by other worldly business; but it exhorted them to attend to the exercises of the soul, which consist in reflection, and to addresses of a beneficial kind for their neighbor's benefit. And therefore the Lord reproved those who unjustly blamed him for having healed upon the Sabbath days. For he did not make void, but fulfilled the law, by performing the offices of the high priest, propitiating God for men, and cleansing the lepers, healing the sick, and himself suffering death, that exiled man might go forth from condemnation, and might return without fear to his own inheritance. And again, the law did not forbid those who were hungry on the Sabbath days to take food lying ready at hand: it did, however, forbid them to reap and to gather into the barn."--_Against Heresies_, b. iv. chap. viii. sects. 2, 3. The case of the priests on the Sabbath he thus presents:-- "And the priests in the temple profaned the Sabbath, and were blameless. Wherefore, then, were they blameless? Because when in the temple they were not engaged in secular affairs, but in the service of the Lord, fulfilling the law, but not going beyond it, as that man did, who of his own accord carried dry wood into the camp of God, and was justly stoned to death." Book iv. chap. viii. sect. 3. Of the necessity of keeping the ten commandments, he speaks thus:-- "Now, that the law did beforehand teach mankind the necessity of following Christ, he does himself make manifest, when he replied as follows to him who asked him what he should do that he might inherit eternal life: 'If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments.' But upon the other asking, 'which?' again the Lord replied: 'Do not commit adultery, do not kill, do not steal, do not bear false witness, honor father and mother, and thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,'--setting as an ascending series before those who wished to follow him, the precepts of the law, as the entrance into life; and what he then said to one, he said to all. But when the former said, 'All these have I done' (and most likely he had not kept them, for in that case the Lord would not have said to him, 'Keep the commandments'), the Lord, exposing his covetousness, said to him, 'If thou wilt be perfect, go, sell all that thou hast, and distribute to the poor; and come follow me,' promising to those who would act thus, the portion belonging to the apostles.... But he taught that they should obey the commandments which God enjoined from the beginning, and do away with their former covetousness by good works, and follow after Christ." Book iv. chap. xii. sect. 5. Irenæus certainly teaches a very different doctrine from that of Justin Martyr concerning the commandments. He believed that men must keep the commandments, in order to enter eternal life. He says further:-- "And [we must] not only abstain from evil deeds, but even from the desires after them. Now he did not teach us these things as being opposed to the law, but as fulfilling the law, and implanting in us the varied righteousness of the law. That would have been contrary to the law, if he had commanded his disciples to do anything which the law had prohibited." Book iv. chap. xiii. sect. 1. He also makes the observance of the decalogue the test of true piety. Thus he says:-- "They (the Jews) had therefore a law, a course of discipline, and a prophecy of future things. For God at the first, indeed, warning them by means of natural precepts, which from the beginning he had implanted in mankind, that is, by means of the decalogue (which, if any one does not observe, he has no salvation), did then demand nothing more of them." Book iv. chap. xv. sect. 1. The precepts of the decalogue he rightly terms "natural precepts," that is, precepts which constitute "the work of the law" written by nature in the hearts of all men, but marred by the presence of the carnal mind or law of sin in the members. That this law of God pertains alike to Jews and to Gentiles, he thus affirms:-- "Inasmuch, then, as all natural precepts are common to us and to them (the Jews), they had in them, indeed, the beginning and origin; but in us they have received growth and completion." Book iv. chap. xiii. sect. 4. It is certain that Irenæus held the decalogue to be now binding on all men; for he says of it in the quotation above, "Which if any one does not observe, he has no salvation." But, though not consistent with his statement respecting the decalogue as the law of nature, he classes the Sabbath with circumcision, when speaking of it as a sign between God and Israel, and says, "The Sabbaths taught that we should continue day by day in God's service." "Moreover the Sabbath of God, that is, the kingdom, was, as it were, indicated by created things; in which [kingdom], the man who shall have persevered in serving God shall, in a state of rest, partake of God's table." He says also of Abraham that he was "without observance of Sabbaths." Book iv. chap. xvi. sects. 1, 2. But in the same chapter he again asserts the perpetuity and authority of the decalogue in these words:-- "Preparing man for this life, the Lord himself did speak in his own person to all alike the words of the decalogue; and therefore, in like manner, do they remain permanently with us, receiving, by means of his advent in the flesh, extension and increase, but not abrogation." Section 4. This statement establishes the authority of each of the ten commandments in the gospel dispensation. Yet Irenæus seems to have regarded the fourth commandment as only a typical precept, and not of perpetual obligation like the others. Irenæus regarded the Sabbath as something which pointed forward to the kingdom of God. Yet in stating this doctrine he actually indicates the origin of the Sabbath at creation, though, as we have seen, elsewhere asserting that it was not kept by Abraham. Thus, in speaking of the reward to be given the righteous, he says:-- "These are [to take place] in the times of the kingdom, that is, upon the seventh day, which has been sanctified, in which God rested from all the works which he created, which is the true Sabbath of the righteous, in which they shall not be engaged in any earthly occupation; but shall have a table at hand prepared for them by God, supplying them with all sorts of dishes." Book v. chap. xxxiii. sect. 2. And he elsewhere says: "In as many days as this world was made, in so many thousand years shall it be concluded.... For the day of the Lord is as a thousand years: and in six days created things were completed: it is evident, therefore, that they will come to an end at the sixth thousand year." Book v. chap. xxviii. sect. 3. Though Irenæus is made by first-day writers to bear a very explicit testimony that Sunday is the Christian Sabbath, the following, which constitutes the seventh fragment of what is called the "Lost Writings of Irenæus," is the only instance which I have found in a careful search through all his works in which he even mentions the first day. Here is the entire first-day testimony of this father:-- "This [custom], of not bending the knee upon Sunday, is a symbol of the resurrection, through which we have been set free, by the grace of Christ, from sins, and from death, which has been put to death under him. Now this custom took its rise from apostolic times, as the blessed Irenæus, the martyr and bishop of Lyons, declares in his treatise _On Easter_, in which he makes mention of Pentecost also; upon which [feast] we do not bend the knee, because it is of equal significance with the Lord's day, for the reason already alleged concerning it." This is something very remarkable. It is not what Irenæus said, after all, but is what an unknown writer, in a work entitled _Quæs. et Resp. ad Othod._, says of him. And all that this writer says of Irenæus is that he declares the custom of not kneeling upon Sunday "took its rise from apostolic times"! It does not even appear that Irenæus even used the term Lord's day as a title for the first day of the week. Its use in the present quotation is by the unknown writer to whom we are indebted for the statement here given respecting Irenæus. And this writer, whoever he be, is of the opinion that the Pentecost is of equal consequence with the so-called Lord's day! And well he may so judge, inasmuch as both of these Catholic festivals are only established by the authority of the church. The testimony of Irenæus in behalf of Sunday does therefore amount simply to this: That the resurrection is to be commemorated by "not bending the knee upon Sunday"! The fiftieth fragment of the "Lost Writings of Irenæus" is derived from the Nitrian Collection of Syriac MSS. It relates to the resurrection of the dead. In a note appended to it the Syriac editor says of Irenæus that he "wrote to an Alexandrian to the effect that it is right, with respect to the feast of the resurrection, that we should celebrate it upon the first day of the week." No extant writing of Irenæus contains this statement, but it is likely that the Syriac editor possessed some portion of his works now lost. And here again it is worthy of notice that we have from Irenæus only the plain name of "first day of the week." As to the manner of celebrating it, the only thing which he sets forth is "not bending the knee upon Sunday." In the thirty-eighth fragment of his "Lost Writings" he quotes Col. 2:16, but whether with reference to the seventh day, or merely respecting the ceremonial sabbaths, his comments do not determine. We have now given every statement of Irenæus which bears upon the Sabbath and the Sunday. It is manifest that the advocates of first-day sacredness have made Irenæus testify in its behalf to suit themselves. He alludes to the first day of the week once or twice, but never uses for it the title of Lord's day or Christian Sabbath, and the _only_ thing which he mentions as entering into the celebration of the festival was that Christians should not kneel in prayer on that day! By first-day writers, Irenæus is made to bear an explicit testimony that Sunday is the Lord's day and the Christian Sabbath! And to give great weight to this alleged fact, they say that he was the disciple of Polycarp, who was the disciple of John: and whereas John speaks of the Lord's day, Irenæus, who must have known what he meant by the term, says that the Lord's day is the first day of the week! But Polycarp, in his epistle, does not even mention the first day of the week, and Irenæus, in his extended writings, mentions it only twice, and that in "lost fragments," preserved at secondhand, and in neither instance does he call it any thing but plain "first day of the week"! And the only honor which he mentions as due this day is that the knee should not be bent upon it! And even this was not spoken of every Sunday in the year, but only of "Easter Sunday," the anniversary of Christ's resurrection! Here we might dismiss the case of Irenæus. But our first-day friends are determined at least to connect him with the use of Lord's day as a name for Sunday. They therefore bring forward Eusebius, who wrote 150 years later, to prove that Irenæus did call Sunday by that name. Eusebius alludes to the controversy in the time of Irenæus, respecting the _annual_ celebration of Christ's resurrection in what was called the festival of the passover. He says (Eccl. Hist., b. v. chap. xxiii.) that the bishops of different countries, and Irenæus was of the number, decreed "that the mystery of our Lord's resurrection should be celebrated on no other day than the Lord's day; and that on this day alone we should observe the close of the paschal fasts," and not on the fourteenth of the first month as practiced by the other party. And in the next chapter, Eusebius represents Irenæus as writing a letter to this effect to the Bishop of Rome. But observe, Eusebius does not quote the words of any of these bishops, but simply gives their decisions in his own language. There is therefore no proof that they used the term Lord's day instead of first day of the week. But we have evidence that in the decision of this case which Irenæus sent forth, he used the term "first day of the week." For the introduction to the fiftieth fragment of his "Lost Writings," already quoted, gives an ancient statement of his words in this decision, as plain "first day of the week." It is Eusebius who gives us the term Lord's day in recording what was said by these bishops concerning the first day of the week. In his time, A. D. 324, Lord's day had become a common designation of Sunday. But it was not such in the time of Irenæus, A. D. 178. We have found no writer who flourished before him who applies it to Sunday; it is not so applied by Irenæus; and we shall find no decisive instance of such use till the close of the second century. TESTIMONY OF DIONYSIUS, BISHOP OF CORINTH. This father, about A. D. 170, wrote a letter to the Roman church, in which are found these words:-- "We passed this holy Lord's day, in which we read your letter, from the constant reading of which we shall be able to draw admonition, even as from the reading of the former one you sent us written through Clement." This is the earliest use of the term Lord's day to be found in the fathers. But it cannot be called a decisive testimony that Sunday was thus known at this date, inasmuch as every writer who precedes Dionysius calls it "first day of the week," "eighth day," or "Sunday," but never once by this title; and Dionysius says nothing to indicate that Sunday was intended, or to show that he did not refer to that day which alone has the right to be called the Lord's "holy day." Isa. 58:13. We have found several express testimonies to the sacredness of the Sabbath in the writers already examined. TESTIMONY OF MELITO, BISHOP OF SARDIS. This father wrote about A. D. 177. We know little of this writer except the titles of his books, which Eusebius has preserved to us. One of these titles is this: "On the Lord's Day." But it should be remembered that down to this date no writer has called Sunday the Lord's day; and that every one who certainly spoke of that day called it by some other name than Lord's day. To say, therefore, as do first-day writers, that Melito wrote of Sunday, is to speak without just warrant. He uses #Greek: tês kyriakês#, "the Lord's," but does not join with it #hêmera#, a "day," as does John. He wrote of something pertaining to the Lord, but it is not certain that it was the Lord's day. Moreover, Clement, who next uses this term, uses it in a mystical sense. TESTIMONY OF THE HERETIC BARDESANES. Bardesanes, the Syrian, flourished about A. D. 180. He belonged to the Gnostic sect of Valentinians, and abandoning them, "devised errors of his own." In his "Book of the Laws of Countries," he replies to the views of astrologers who assert that the stars govern men's actions. He shows the folly of this by enumerating the peculiarities of different races and sects. In doing this, he speaks of the strictness with which the Jews kept the Sabbath. Of the new sect called Christians, which "Christ at his advent planted in every country," he says:-- "On one day, the first of the week, we assemble ourselves together, and on the days of the readings we abstain from [taking] sustenance." This shows that the Gnostics used Sunday as the day for religious assemblies. Whether he recognized others besides Gnostics, as Christians, we cannot say. We find no allusion, however, to Sunday as a day of abstinence from labor, except so far as necessary for their meetings. What their days of fasting, which are here alluded to, were, cannot now be determined. It is also worthy of notice that this writer, who certainly speaks of Sunday, and this as late as A. D. 180, does not call it Lord's day, nor give it any sacred title whatever, but speaks of it as "first day of the week." No writer down to A. D. 180, who is known to speak of Sunday, calls it the Lord's day. CHAPTER VI. Theophilus--Clement of Alexandria. TESTIMONY OF THEOPHILUS OF ANTIOCH. This father became Bishop of Antioch in A. D. 168, and died A. D. 181. First-day writers represent him as saying, "Both _custom_ and _reason_ challenge from us that we should honor the Lord's day, seeing on that day it was that our Lord Jesus completed his resurrection from the dead." These writers, however, give no reference to the particular place in the works of Theophilus where this is to be found. I have carefully examined every paragraph of all the extant writings of this father, and that several times over, without discovering any such statement. I am constrained, therefore, to state that nothing of the kind above quoted is to be found in Theophilus! And further than this, the term Lord's day does not occur in this writer, nor does he even refer to the first day of the week except in quoting Genesis 1, in a _single instance_! But though he makes no mention of the Sunday festival, he makes the following reference to the Sabbath in his remarks concerning the creation of the world:-- "Moreover [they spoke], concerning the seventh day, which all men acknowledge; but the most know not that what among the Hebrews is called the 'Sabbath,' is translated into Greek the 'seventh' (#hebdomas#), a name which is adopted by every nation, although they know not the reason of the appellation." _Theophilus to Autolycus_, b. ii. chap. xii. Though Theophilus is in error in saying that the Hebrew word _Sabbath_ is translated into Greek _seventh_, his statement indicates that he held the origin of the Sabbath to be when God sanctified the seventh day. These are the words of Scripture, as given by him, on which he wrote the above:-- "And on the sixth day God finished his works which he made, and rested on the seventh day from all his works which he made. And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it; because in it he rested from all his works which God began to create." Book ii. chap. xi. In the fifteenth chapter of this book, he compares those who "keep the law and commandments of God" to the fixed stars, while the "wandering stars" are "a type of the men who have wandered from God, abandoning his law and commandments." Of the law itself, he speaks thus:-- "We have learned a holy law; but we have as law-giver him who is really God, who teaches us to act righteously, and to be pious, and to do good." After quoting all but the third and fourth commandments, he says: "Of this great and wonderful law which tends to all righteousness, the TEN HEADS are such as we have already rehearsed." Book iii. chap. ix. He makes the keeping of the law and commandments the condition of a part in the resurrection to eternal life:-- "For God has given us a law and holy commandments; and every one who keeps these can be saved, and, obtaining the resurrection, can inherit incorruption." Book ii. chap. xxvii. And yet this man who bears such a noble testimony to the commandments and the law, and who says not one word concerning the festival of Sunday, is made to speak explicitly in behalf of this so-called Christian Sabbath! TESTIMONY OF CLEMENT OF ALEXANDRIA, A. D. 194. This father was born about A. D. 160, and died about A. D. 220. He wrote about A. D. 194, and is the first of the fathers who uses the term Lord's day in such a manner as possibly to signify by it the first day of the week. And yet he expressly speaks of the Sabbath as a day of rest, and of the first day of the week as a day for labor! The change of the Sabbath and the institution of the so-called Christian Sabbath were alike unknown to him. Of the ten commandments, he speaks thus:-- "We have the decalogue given by Moses, which, indicating by an elementary principle, simple and of one kind, defines the designation of sins in a way conducive to salvation," etc.--_The Instructor_, b. iii. chap. xii. He thus alludes to the Sabbath:-- "Thus the Lord did not hinder from doing good while keeping the Sabbath; but allowed us to communicate of those divine mysteries, and of that holy light, to those who are able to receive them."--_The Miscellanies_, b. i. chap. i. "To restrain one's self from doing good is the work of vice; but to keep from wrong is the beginning of salvation. So the Sabbath, by abstinence from evils, seems to indicate self-restraint." Book iv. chap. iii. He calls love the Lord of the Sabbath:-- "He convicted the man, who boasted that he had fulfilled the injunctions of the law, of not loving his neighbor; and it is by beneficence that the love which, according to the Gnostic ascending scale, is Lord of the Sabbath, proclaims itself." Book iv. chap. vi. Referring to the case of the priests in Eze. 43:27, he says:-- "And they purify themselves seven days, the period in which creation was consummated. For on the seventh day the rest is celebrated; and on the eighth, he brings a propitiation, as it is written in Ezekiel, according to which propitiation the promise is to be received." Book iv. chap. xxv. We come now to the first instance in the fathers in which the term Lord's day is perhaps applied to Sunday. Clement is the father who does this, and he very properly substantiates it with evidence. He does not say that Saint John thus applied this name, but he finds authority for this in the writings of the heathen philosopher Plato, who, he thinks, spoke of it prophetically! "And the Lord's day Plato prophetically speaks of in the tenth book of the _Republic_, in these words: 'And when seven days have passed to each of them in the meadow, on the eighth day they are to set out and arrive in four days.' By the meadow is to be understood the fixed sphere, as being a mild and genial spot, and the locality of the pious; and by the seven days each motion of the seven planets, and the whole practical art which speeds to the end of the rest. But after the wandering orbs the journey leads to Heaven, that is, to the eighth motion and day. And he says that souls are gone on the fourth day, pointing out the passage through the four elements." Book v. chap. xiv. By the eighth day to which Clement here applies the name of Lord's day the first day is possibly intended, though he appears to speak solely of mystical days. But having said thus much in behalf of the eighth day, he in the very next sentence commences to establish from the Greek writers the sacredness of that seventh day which the Hebrews hallowed. This shows that whatever regard he might have for the eighth day, he certainly cherished the seventh day as sacred. Thus he continues:-- "But the seventh day is recognized as sacred, not by the Hebrews only, but also by the Greeks; according to which the whole world of all animals and plants revolves. Hesiod says of it:-- "'The first, and fourth, and seventh days were held sacred.' "And again: 'And on the seventh the sun's resplendent orb.' "And Homer: 'And on the seventh then came the sacred day.' "And: 'The seventh was sacred.' "And again: 'It was the seventh day, and all things were accomplished.' "And again: 'And on the seventh morn we leave the stream of Acheron.' "Callimachus the poet also writes: 'It was the seventh morn, and they had all things done.' "And again: 'Among good days is the seventh day, and the seventh race.' "And: 'The seventh is among the prime, and the seventh is perfect.' "And: 'Now all the seven were made in starry heaven, In circles shining as the years appear.' "The Elegies of Solon, too, intensely deify the seventh day." Book v. chap. xiv. Some of these quotations are not now found in the writings which Clement cites. And whether or not he rightly applies them to the seventh-day Sabbath, the fact that he does so apply them is incontestible proof that he honored that day as sacred, whatever might also be his regard for that day which he distinguishes as the eighth. In book vi., chapter v., he alludes to the celebration of some of the annual sabbaths. And in chapter xvi., he thus speaks of the fourth commandment:-- "And the fourth word is that which intimates that the world was created by God, and that _he gave us the seventh day as a rest_, on account of the trouble that there is in life. For God is incapable of weariness, and suffering, and want. _But we who bear flesh need rest. The seventh day, therefore, is proclaimed a rest_--abstraction from ills--preparing for the primal day, our true rest; which, in truth, is the first creation of light, in which all things are viewed and possessed. From this day the first wisdom and knowledge illuminate us." This certainly teaches that the Sabbath was made for man, and that he now needs it as a day of rest. It also indicates that Clement recognized the authority of the fourth commandment, for he treats of the ten commandments in order, and comments on what each enjoins or forbids. In the next paragraph, however, he makes some remarkable suggestions. Thus he says:-- "Having reached this point, we must mention these things by the way; since the discourse has turned on the seventh and the eighth. For the eighth may possibly turn out to be properly the seventh, and the seventh, manifestly the sixth, and the latter,[D] properly the Sabbath, and the seventh, a day of work. For the creation of the world was concluded in six days." Book vi. chap. xvi. Clement thinks it possible that the eighth day (Sunday), may really be the seventh day, and that the seventh day (Saturday) may in fact be the true sixth day. But let not our Sunday friends exult at this, for Clement by no means helps their case. Having said that Sunday may be properly the seventh day, and Saturday manifestly the sixth day, he calls "the LATTER properly the Sabbath, and the seventh a day of work"! By "the latter," of necessity must be understood the day last mentioned, which he says should be called not the seventh, but the sixth; and by "the seventh," must certainly be intended that day which he says is not the eighth, but the seventh, that is to say, Sunday. It follows therefore in the estimation of Clement that Sunday was a day of ordinary labor, and Saturday, the day of rest. He had an excellent opportunity to say that the eighth day or Sunday was not only the seventh day, but also the true Sabbath, but instead of doing this he gives this honor to the day which he says is not the seventh but the sixth, and declares that the real seventh day or Sunday is "a day of work." And he proceeds at length to show the sacredness and importance of the number six. His opinion of the numbering of the days is unimportant; but the fact that this father who is the first writer that connects the term Lord's day with the eighth day or Sunday, does expressly represent that day as one of ordinary labor, and does also give to the previous day the honors of the Sabbath is something that should shut the mouths of those who claim him as a believer in the so-called Christian Sabbath. In the same chapter, this writer alludes to the Sabbath vaguely, apparently understanding it to prefigure the rest that remains to the people of God:-- "Rightly, then, they reckon the number seven motherless and childless, interpreting the Sabbath, and figuratively expressing the nature of the rest, in which 'they neither marry nor are given in marriage any more.'" The following quotation completes the testimony of Clement. He speaks of the precept concerning fasting, that it is fulfilled by abstinence from sinful pleasure. And thus he says:-- "He fasts, then, according to the law, abstaining from bad deeds, and, according to the perfection of the gospel, from evil thoughts. Temptations are applied to him, not for his purification, but, as we have said, for the good of his neighbors, if, making trial of toils and pains, he has despised and passed them by. The same holds of pleasure. For it is the highest achievement for one who has had trial of it, afterwards to abstain. For what great thing is it, if a man restrains himself in what he knows not? He, in fulfillment of the precept, according to the gospel, keeps the Lord's day, when he abandons an evil disposition, and assumes that of the Gnostic, glorifying the Lord's resurrection in himself." Book vii. chap. xii. Clement asserts that one fasts according to the law when he abstains from evil deeds, and, according to the gospel, when he abstains from evil thoughts. He shows how the precept respecting fasting is fulfilled when he speaks of one who "in fulfillment of the precept, according to the gospel, keeps the Lord's day when he abandons an evil disposition." This abandonment of an evil disposition, according to Clement, keeps the Lord's day, and glorifies the Lord's resurrection. But this duty pertains to no one day of the week, but to all alike, so that he seems evidently to inculcate a perpetual Lord's day, even as Justin Martyr enjoins the observance of a "perpetual Sabbath," to be acceptably sanctified by those who maintain true repentance. Though these writers are not always consistent with themselves, yet two facts go to show that Clement in this book means just what his words literally import, viz., that the keeping of the Lord's day and the glorifying of the resurrection is not the observance of a certain day of the week, but the performance of a work which embraces every day of one's whole life. 1. The first of these facts is his express statement of this doctrine in the first paragraph of the seventh chapter of this book. Thus he says:-- "Now, we are commanded to reverence and to honor the same one, being persuaded that he is Word, Saviour, and Leader, and by him, the Father, NOT ON SPECIAL DAYS, AS SOME OTHERS, but _doing this continually in our whole life_, and in every way. Certainly the elect race, justified by the precept, says, 'Seven times a day have I praised thee.' Whence _not_ in a specified place, or selected temple, or at _certain festivals_, and on _appointed days_, but _during his whole life_, the Gnostic in every place, even if he be alone by himself, and wherever he has any of those who have exercised the like faith, honors God; that is, acknowledges his gratitude for the knowledge of the way to live." Book vii. chap. vii. 2. The second of these facts is that in book vi., chapter xvi., as already quoted, he expressly represents Sunday as "a day of work." Certainly Clement of Alexandria should not be cited as teaching the change of the Sabbath, or advocating the so-called Christian Sabbath. CHAPTER VII. TESTIMONY OF TERTULLIAN, A. D. 200. This writer contradicts himself in the most extraordinary manner concerning the Sabbath and the law of God. He asserts that the Sabbath was abolished by Christ, and elsewhere emphatically declares that he did not abolish it. He says that Joshua violated the Sabbath, and then expressly declares that he did not violate it. He says that Christ broke the Sabbath, and then shows that he never did this. He represents the eighth day as more honorable than the seventh, and elsewhere states just the reverse. He asserts that the law is abolished, and in other places affirms its perpetual obligation. He speaks of the Lord's day as the eighth day, and is the second of the early writers who makes an application of this term to Sunday, if we allow Clement to have really spoken of it. But though he thus uses the term like Clement he also like him teaches a perpetual Lord's day, or, like Justin Martyr, a perpetual Sabbath in the observance of every day. And with the observance of Sunday as the Lord's day he brings in "offerings for the dead" and the perpetual use of the sign of the cross. But he expressly affirms that these things rest, not upon the authority of the Scriptures, but wholly upon that of tradition and custom. And though he speaks of the Sabbath as abrogated by Christ, he expressly contradicts this by asserting that Christ "did not at all rescind the Sabbath," and that he imparted an additional sanctity to that day which from the beginning had been consecrated by the benediction of the Father. This strange mingling of light and darkness plainly indicates the age in which this author lived. He was not so far removed from the time of the apostles but that many clear rays of divine truth shone upon him; and he was far enough advanced in the age of apostasy to have its dense darkness materially affect him. He stood on the line between expiring day and advancing night. Sometimes the law of God was unspeakably sacred; at other times tradition was of higher authority than the law. Sometimes divine institutions were alone precious in his estimation; at others he was better satisfied with those which were sustained only by custom and tradition. Tertullian's first reference to Sunday is found in that part of his Apology in which he excuses his brethren from the charge of sun-worship. Thus he says:-- "Others, again, certainly with more information and greater verisimilitude, believe that the sun is our God. We shall be counted Persians, perhaps, though we do not worship the orb of day painted on a piece of linen cloth, having himself everywhere in his own disk. The idea, no doubt, has originated from our being known to turn to the east in prayer. But you, many of you, also, under pretense sometimes of worshiping the heavenly bodies, move your lips in the direction of the sunrise. In the same way, if we devote Sunday to rejoicing, from a far different reason than sun-worship, we have some resemblance to those of you who devote the day of Saturn to ease and luxury, though they, too, go far away from Jewish ways, of which indeed they are ignorant."--_Thelwell's Translation_, sect. 16. Several important facts are presented in this quotation. 1. Sunday was an ancient heathen festival in honor of the sun. 2. Those Christians who observed the festival of Sunday were claimed by the heathen as sun-worshipers. 3. The entrance of the Sunday festival into the church in an age of apostasy when men very generally honored it, was not merely not difficult to be effected, it was actually difficult to be prevented. It would seem from the closing sentence that some of the heathen used the seventh day as a day of ease and luxury. But Mr. Reeve's Translation gives a very different sense. He renders Tertullian thus:-- "We solemnize the day after Saturday in contradistinction to those who call this day their Sabbath, and devote it to ease and eating, deviating from the old Jewish customs, which they are now very ignorant of." The persons here mentioned so contemptuously could not be heathens, for they do not call any day "their Sabbath." Nor could they be Jews, as is plain from the form of expression used. If we accept Mr. Reeve's Translation, these persons were Christians who observe the seventh day. Tertullian does not say that the Sunday festival was observed by divine authority, but that they might distinguish themselves from those who call the seventh day the Sabbath. Tertullian again declares that his brethren did not observe the days held sacred by the Jews. "We neither accord with the Jews in their peculiarities in regard to food, nor in their sacred days."--_Apology_, sect. 21. But those Christians who would not keep the Sabbath because the festival of Sunday was in their estimation more worthy of honor, or more convenient to observe, were greatly given to the observance of other days, in common with the heathen, besides Sunday. Thus Tertullian charges home upon them this sin:-- "The Holy Spirit upbraids the Jews with their holy days. 'Your sabbaths, and new moons, and ceremonies,' says he, 'my soul hateth.' By us (to whom Sabbaths are strange, and the new moons, and festivals formerly beloved by God) the Saturnalia and New Year's and mid-winter's festivals and Matronalia are frequented--presents come and go--New Year's gifts--games join their noise--banquets join their din! Oh! better fidelity of the nations to their own sect, which claims no solemnity of the Christians for itself! Not the Lord's day, not Pentecost, even if they had known them, would they have shared with us; for they would fear lest they should seem to be Christians. _We_ are not apprehensive lest we seem to be _heathens_! If any indulgence is to be granted to the flesh, you have it. I will not say your own days, but more too; for to the _heathens_ each festive day occurs but once annually; _you_ have a festive day every eighth day."--_On Idolatry_, chap. xiv. These Sunday-festival Christians, "to whom Sabbaths" were "strange," could not have kept Sunday as a Sabbath. They had never heard that by divine authority the Sabbath was changed from the seventh to the first day of the week, and that Sunday is the Christian Sabbath. Let any candid man read the above words from Tertullian, and then deny, if he can, that these strangers to the Sabbath, and observers of heathen festivals, were not a body of apostatizing Christians! Hereafter Tertullian will give an excellent commentary on his quotation from Isaiah. It seems from him that the so-called Lord's day came once in eight days. Were these words to be taken in their most obvious sense, then it would come one day later each week than it did the preceding week, and thus it would come successively on all the days of the week in order, at intervals of eight days. He might in such case well say:-- "However, _every_ day is the Lord's; every hour, every time, is apt for baptism; if there is a difference in the _solemnity_, in the _grace_, distinction there is none."--_On Baptism_, chap. xix. But it seems that Tertullian by the eighth day intended Sunday. And here is something from him relative to the manner of keeping it. Thus he says:-- "In the matter of _kneeling_ also, prayer is subject to diversity of observance, through the act of some few who abstain from kneeling on the Sabbath; and since this dissension is particularly on its trial before the churches, the Lord will give his grace that the dissentients may either yield, or else indulge their opinion without offense to others. We, however (just as we have received), only on the day of the Lord's resurrection ought to guard not only against kneeling, but every posture and office of solicitude; deferring even our businesses, lest we give any place to the devil. Similarly, too, in the period of Pentecost; which period we distinguish by the same solemnity of exultation. But who would hesitate _every_ day to prostrate himself before God, at least in the first prayer with which we enter on the daylight."--_On Prayer_, chap. xxiii. A more literal translation of this passage would expressly connect the term Lord's day with the day of Christ's resurrection, the original being "die Dominico resurrexionis." The special weekly honor which Tertullian would have men confer solely upon Sunday was to pray on that day in a _standing_ posture. And somewhat to his annoyance, "some few" would thus act with reference to the Sabbath. There is, however, some reference to the deferral of business on Sunday. And this is worthy of notice, for it is the first sentence we have discovered that looks like abstinence from labor on Sunday, and we shall not find another before the time of Constantine's famous Sunday law, A. D. 321. But this passage is far from asserting that labor on Sunday was sinful. It speaks of "deferring even our businesses;" but this does not necessarily imply anything beyond its postponement during the hours devoted to religious services. And we shall find nothing in Tertullian, nor in his cotemporaries, that will go beyond this, while we shall find much to restrict us to the interpretation of his words here given. Tertullian could not say that Sabbaths were strange to him and his brethren if they religiously refrained from labor on each Sunday. But let us hear him again concerning the observance of Sunday and kindred practices:-- "We take also, in meetings before daybreak, and from the hand of none but the presidents, the sacrament of the Eucharist, which the Lord both commanded to be eaten at meal-times, and enjoined to be taken by all [alike]. As often as the anniversary comes round, we make offerings for the dead as birth-day honors. We count fasting or kneeling in worship on the Lord's day to be unlawful. We rejoice in the same privilege also from Easter to Whit-sunday. We feel pained should any wine or bread, even though our own, be cast upon the ground. At every forward step and movement, at every going in and out, when we put on our clothes and shoes, when we bathe, when we sit at table, when we light the lamps, on couch, on seat, in all the ordinary actions of daily life, we trace upon the forehead the sign [of the cross]. "If, for these and other such rules, you insist upon having positive Scripture injunction, you will find none. Tradition will be held forth to you as the originator of them, custom, as their strengthener, and faith, as their observer. That reason will support tradition, and custom, and faith, you will either yourself perceive, or learn from some one who has."--_De Corona_, sects. 3 and 4. The things which he counted unlawful on Sunday he expressly names. These are fasting and kneeling on that day. But ordinary labor does not come into his list of things unlawful on that day. And now observe what progress apostasy and superstition had made in other things also. "Offerings for the dead" were regularly made, and the sign of the cross was repeated as often as God would have men rehearse his commandments. See Deut. 6:6-9. And now if you wish to know Tertullian's authority for the Sunday festival, offerings for the dead, and the sign of the cross, he frankly tells you what it is. He had no authority from the Scriptures. Custom and tradition were all that he could offer. Modern divines can find plenty of authority, from the Scriptures, as they assert, for maintaining the so-called Lord's day. Tertullian knew of none. He took the Sunday festival, offerings for the dead, and the sign of the cross, on the authority of custom and tradition; if you take the first on such authority, why do you not, also, the other two? But Tertullian finds it necessary to write a second defense of his brethren from the charge of being sun-worshipers, a charge directly connected with their observance of the festival of Sunday. Here are his words:-- "Others, with greater regard to good manners, it must be confessed, suppose that the sun is the god of the Christians, because it is a well-known fact that we pray towards the east, or because we make Sunday a day of festivity. What then? Do you do less than this? Do not many among you, with an affectation of sometimes worshiping the heavenly bodies likewise, move your lips in the direction of the sunrise? It is you, at all events, who have even admitted the sun into the calendar of the week; and you have selected its day [Sunday], in preference to the preceding day, as the most suitable in the week for either an entire abstinence from the bath, or for its postponement until the evening, or for taking rest, and for banqueting. By resorting to these customs, you deliberately deviate from your own religious rites to those of strangers. For the Jewish feasts are the Sabbath and 'the Purification,' and Jewish also are the ceremonies of the lamps, and the fasts of unleavened bread, and the 'littoral prayers,' all which institutions and practices are of course foreign from your gods. Wherefore, that I may return from this digression, you who reproach us with the sun and Sunday should consider your proximity to us. We are not far off from your Saturn and your days of rest."--_Ad Nationes_, b. i. chap. xiii. Tertullian in this discourse addresses himself to the nations still in idolatry. The heathen festival of Sunday, which was with some nations more ancient, had been established among the Romans at a comparatively recent date, though earlier than the time of Justin Martyr, the first Christian writer in whom an authentic mention of the day is found. The heathen reproached the early Sunday Christians with being sun-worshipers, "because," says Tertullian, "we pray towards the east, or because we make Sunday a day of festivity." And how does Tertullian answer this grave charge? He could not say, We do it by command of God to honor the first day of the week, for he expressly states in a former quotation that no such precept exists. So he retorts thus: "What then? Do you [heathen] do less than this?" And he adds: "You have selected its day [Sunday] in preference to the preceding day" (Saturday), etc. That is to say, Tertullian wishes to know why, if the heathen could choose Sunday in preference to Saturday, the Christians could not have the same privilege! Could there be a stronger incidental evidence that Sunday was cherished by the early apostatizing Christians, not because commanded of God, but because it was generally observed by their heathen neighbors, and therefore more convenient to them? But Tertullian next avows his faith in the ten commandments as "the rules of our regenerate life," that is to say, the rules which govern Christian men; and he gives the preference to the seventh day over the eighth:-- "I must also say something about the period of the soul's birth, that I may omit nothing incidental in the whole process. A mature and regular birth takes place, as a general rule, at the commencement of the tenth month. They who theorize respecting numbers, honor the number ten as the parent of all the others, and as imparting perfection to the human nativity. For my own part, I prefer viewing this measure of time in reference to God, as if implying that the ten months rather initiated man into the ten commandments; so that the numerical estimate of the time needed to consummate our natural birth should correspond to the numerical classification of _the rules of our regenerate life_. But inasmuch as birth is also completed with the seventh month, I more readily recognize in this number than in the eighth the honor of a numerical agreement with the Sabbatical period; so that the month in which God's image is sometimes produced in a human birth, shall in its number tally with the day on which God's creation was completed and hallowed."--_De Anima_, chap. xxxvii. This kind of reasoning is of course destitute of any force. But in adducing such an argument Tertullian avows his faith in the ten commandments as the rule of the Christian's life, gives the preference to the seventh day as the Sabbath, and deduces the origin of the Sabbath from God's act of hallowing the seventh day at creation. Though Tertullian elsewhere, as we shall see, speaks lightly of the law of God, and represents it as abolished, his next testimony most sacredly honors that law, and while acknowledging the Sabbath as one of its precepts, he recognizes the authority of the whole code. Thus he says:-- "Of how deep guilt, then, adultery--which is likewise a matter of fornication, in accordance with its criminal function--is to be accounted, the law of God first comes to hand to show us; if it is true [as it is], that after interdicting the superstitious service of alien gods, and the making of idols themselves, after commending [to religious observance] the veneration of the Sabbath, after commanding a religious regard toward parents, second [only to that] toward God, [that law] laid, as the next substratum in strengthening and fortifying such counts, no other precept than 'Thou shalt not commit adultery.'"--_On Modesty_, chap. v. And of this precept Tertullian presently tells us that it stands "in the very forefront of _the most holy law_, among the primary counts of _the celestial edict_." In his treatise "On Fasting," chapter xiv., he terms "the Sabbath--a day never to be kept as a fast except at the passover season, according to a reason elsewhere given." And in chapter xv., he excepts from the two weeks in which meat was not eaten "the Sabbaths" and "the Lord's days." But in his "Answer to the Jews," chapter ii., he represents the law as variously modified from Adam to Christ; he denies "that the Sabbath is still to be observed;" classes it with circumcision; declares that Adam was "inobservant of the Sabbath," affirms the same of Abel, Noah, Enoch, and Melchizedek, and asserts that Lot "was freed from the conflagration of the Sodomites" "for the merits of righteousness, without observance of the law." And in the beginning of chapter iii., he again classes the Sabbath with circumcision, and asserts that Abraham did not "observe the Sabbath." In chapter iv., he declares that "the observance of the Sabbath" was "temporary." And he continues thus:-- "For the Jews say, that from the beginning God sanctified the seventh day, by resting on it from all his works which he made; and that thence it was, likewise, that Moses said to the people: 'Remember the day of the Sabbaths,'" etc. Now see how Tertullian and his brethren disposed of this commandment respecting the seventh day:-- "Whence we [Christians] understand that _we_ still more ought to observe a Sabbath from all 'servile work' always, and not only every seventh day, but through all time." That is to say in plain language, they would, under pretense of keeping every day as a Sabbath, not only work on the seventh day of the week, but on all the days of the week. But this plainly proves that Tertullian did not think the seventh day was superseded by the first. And thus he proceeds:-- "And through this arises the question for us, _what_ Sabbath God willed us to keep." Our first-day friends quote Tertullian in behalf of what they call the Christian Sabbath. Had he believed in such an institution he would certainly have named it in answer to this question. But mark his answer:-- "For the Scriptures point to a Sabbath eternal and a Sabbath temporal. For Isaiah the prophet says, '_Your_ Sabbaths my soul hateth.' And in another place he says, 'My Sabbaths ye have profaned.' Whence we discern that the temporal Sabbath is human, and the eternal Sabbath is accounted divine." This temporal Sabbath is the seventh day; this eternal Sabbath is the keeping of all days alike, as Tertullian affirms that he and those with him did. He next declares that Isaiah's prediction respecting the Sabbath in the new earth (Isa. 66: 22, 23), was "fulfilled in the times of Christ, when all flesh--that is, every nation--came to adore in Jerusalem God the Father." And he adds: "Thus, therefore, before this temporal Sabbath [the seventh day], there was withal an eternal Sabbath foreshown and foretold," _i. e._, the keeping of all days alike. And this he fortifies by the assertion that the holy men before Moses did not observe the seventh day. And in proof that the Sabbath was one day to cease, he cites the compassing of Jericho for seven days, one of which must have been the Sabbath. And to this he adds the case of the Maccabees who fought certain battles on the Sabbath. In due time we shall see how admirably he answers such objections as these of his own raising. In chapter vi., he repeats his theory of the "Sabbath temporal" [the seventh day], and the "Sabbath eternal" or the "Spiritual Sabbath," which is "to observe a Sabbath from all 'servile works' always, and not only every seventh day, but through all time." He says that the ancient law has ceased, and that "the new law" and the "Spiritual Sabbath" have come. In the twentieth chapter of his first book against Marcion, Tertullian cites Hosea 2:11, and Isa. 1:13, 14, to prove that the Sabbath is now abrogated. And in his fifth book against Marcion, chapter iv., he quotes Gal. 4:10; John 19:31; Isa. 1:13, 14; Amos 5:21, and Hosea 2:11, to prove that "the Creator abolished his own laws," and that he "destroyed the institutions which he set up himself." These quotations are apparently designed to prove that the Sabbath is abolished, but he does not enter into argument from them. But in the nineteenth chapter of this book he quotes Col. 2:16, 17, and simply says of the law: "The apostle here teaches clearly how it has been abolished, even by passing from shadow to substance--that is, from figurative types to the reality, which is Christ." This remark is truthful and would justly exclude the moral law from this abolition. But in chapter xxi. of his second book against Marcion, he answers the very objection against the Sabbath which himself has elsewhere urged, as we have noticed, drawn from the case of Jericho. He says to Marcion:-- "You do not, however, consider the law of the Sabbath: they are human works, not divine, which it prohibits. For it says, 'Six days shalt thou labor, and do all thy work; but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work.' What work? Of course your own. The conclusion is, that from the Sabbath day he removes those works which he had before enjoined for the six days, that is, your own works; in other words, human works of daily life. Now, the carrying around of the ark is evidently not an ordinary daily duty, nor yet a human one; but a rare and a sacred work, and, as being then ordered by the direct precept of God, a divine one.... Thus, in the present instance, there is a clear distinction respecting the Sabbath's prohibition of human labors, not divine ones. Accordingly, the man who went and gathered sticks on the Sabbath day was punished with death. For it was his own work which he did; and this the law forbade. They, however, who on the Sabbath carried the ark round Jericho, did it with impunity. For it was not their own work, but God's, which they executed, and that, too, from his express commandment." In the following chapter he again cites Isa. 1:11-14, as proof that the Sabbath is abolished. He will, however, presently explain this text which he has so many times used against the Sabbath, and show that it actually has no such bearing. In the meantime he will again declare that Joshua did not break the Sabbath, and having done this he will find it in order again to assert that "the Sabbath was actually then broken by Joshua." In his fourth book against Marcion, chapter xii., he discusses the question whether Christ as Lord of the Sabbath had the right to annul the Sabbath, and whether in his life he did actually violate it. To do this he again cites the case of Jericho, and actually affirms that the Sabbath was broken on that occasion, and at the same time denies it. Thus he says:-- "If Christ interfered with the Sabbath, he simply acted after the Creator's example; inasmuch as in the siege of the city of Jericho the carrying around the walls of the ark of the covenant for eight days running, and therefore on a Sabbath day, actually annulled the Sabbath, by the Creator's command--according to the opinion of those who think this of Christ [Luke 6:1-5] in their ignorance that neither Christ nor the Creator violated the Sabbath, as we shall by-and-by show. And yet the Sabbath was actually then broken by Joshua, so that the present charge might be alleged also against Christ." The Sabbath was not violated in the case of Jericho, and yet it certainly was there violated! Tertullian adds that if Christ hated the Sabbath he was in this like the Creator himself, who declares [Isa. 1:14] that he hates it. He forgets that the Creator has expressly declared his great regard for the Sabbath by this very prophet [chap. 58:13, 14], and overlooks the fact that what God hates is the hypocritical conduct of the people as set forth in Isaiah 1. In his fourth book against Marcion, chapter xvi., Christ is mentioned as the Lord of the Sabbath, but nothing is said bearing upon Sabbatic obligation. In chapter xxx., of this same book, he alludes to the cure wrought by Christ upon the Sabbath day, mentioned in Luke 13:11-16, and says, "When, therefore, he did a work according to the condition prescribed by the law, he affirmed, instead of breaking, the law," etc. In the twelfth chapter of this book, however, he asserts many things relative to Christ. He says that the disciples in rubbing out the ears of corn on the Sabbath "had violated the holy day. Christ excuses them and became their accomplice in breaking the Sabbath." He argues that as the Sabbath from the beginning, which he here places at the fall of the manna though elsewhere dating it from the creation, had never been designed as a day of fasting, the Saviour did right in justifying the act of the disciples in the cornfield. And he terms the example of David a "colorable precedent" to justify the eating of the corn. But though he represents the Saviour as "annulling the Sabbath" at this time, he also asserts that in this very case "he maintains the honor of the Sabbath as a day which is to be free from gloom rather than from work." He justifies the Saviour in his acts of healing on the Sabbath, declaring that in this he was doing that which the Sabbath law did not forbid. Tertullian next affirms precisely the reverse of many things which he has advanced against the Sabbath, and even answers his own objections against it. Thus he says:-- "In order that he might, whilst allowing that amount of work which he was about to perform for a soul, remind them what works the law of the Sabbath forbade--even human works; and what it enjoined--even divine works, which might be done for the benefit of any soul, he was called 'Lord of the Sabbath' because he maintained the Sabbath as his own institution. Now, even if he had annulled the Sabbath, he would have had the right to do so, as being its Lord, [and] still more as he who instituted it. But lie did not utterly destroy it, although its Lord, in order that it might henceforth be plain that the Sabbath was not broken by the Creator, even at the time when the ark was carried around Jericho. For that was really God's work, which he commanded himself, and which he had ordered for the sake of the lives of his servants when exposed to the perils of war." Book iv. chap. xii. In this paragraph Tertullian explains the law of God in the clearest manner. He shows beyond all dispute that neither Joshua nor Christ ever violated it. He also declares that Christ did not abolish the Sabbath. In the next sentence he goes on to answer most admirably his own repeated perversion of Isaiah 1:13, 14, and to contradict some of his own serious errors. Listen to him:-- "Now, although he has in a certain place expressed an aversion of Sabbaths, by calling them '_your Sabbaths_,' reckoning them as men's Sabbaths, not his own, because they were celebrated without the fear of God by a people full of iniquities, and loving God 'with the lip, not the heart,' he has yet put his own Sabbaths (those, that is, which were kept according to his prescription) in a different position; for by the same prophet, in a later passage, he declares them to be 'true, delightful, and inviolable.' [Isa 58:13; 56:2.] Thus _Christ did not at all rescind the Sabbath_: he kept the law thereof, and both in the former case did a work which was beneficial to the life of his disciples (for he indulged them with the relief of food when they were hungry), and in the present instance cured the withered hand; in each case intimating by facts, 'I came not to destroy the law, but to fulfill it,' although Marcion has gagged his mouth by this word." Here Tertullian shows that God did not hate his own Sabbath, but only the hypocrisy of those who professed to keep it. He also expressly declares that the Saviour "did not at all rescind the Sabbath." And now that he has his hand in, he will not cease till he has testified to a noble Sabbatarian confession of faith, placing its origin at creation, and perpetuating the institution with divine safeguards and additional sanctity. Moreover he asserts that Christ's adversary [Satan] would have had him do this to some other days, a heavy blow as it happens upon those who in modern times so stoutly maintain that he consecrated the first day of the week to take the place of the Creator's rest-day. Listen again to Tertullian, who continues as follows:-- "For even in the case before us he fulfilled the law, while interpreting its condition; [moreover,] he exhibits in a clear light the different kinds of work, while doing what the law excepts from the sacredness of the Sabbath, [and] while imparting to the Sabbath day itself, which _from the beginning_ had been consecrated by the benediction of the Father, an additional sanctity by his own beneficent action. For he furnished to this day divine safeguards,--a course which his adversary would have pursued for some other days, to avoid honoring the Creator's Sabbath, and restoring to the Sabbath the works which were proper for it. Since, in like manner, the prophet Elisha on this day restored to life the dead son of the Shunammite woman, you see, O Pharisee, and you too, O Marcion, how that it was [proper employment] for the Creator's Sabbaths of old to do good, to save life, not to destroy it; how that Christ introduced nothing new, which was not after the example, the gentleness, the mercy, and the prediction also of the Creator. For in this very example he fulfills the prophetic announcement of a specific healing: 'The weak hands are strengthened,' as were also 'the feeble knees' in the sick of the palsy."--_Tertullian against Marcion_, b. iv. chap. xii. Tertullian mistakes in his reference to the Shunammite woman. It was not the Sabbath day on which she went to the prophet. 2 Kings 4:23. But in the last three paragraphs quoted from him, which in his work form one continuous statement, he affirms many important truths which are worthy of careful enumeration. They are as follows:-- 1. Christ, in determining what should, and what should not, be done on the Sabbath, "was called 'Lord of the Sabbath,' because he maintained the Sabbath as his own institution." 2. "The Sabbath was not broken by the Creator, even at the time when the ark was carried around Jericho." 3. The reason why God expressed his aversion to "your Sabbaths," as though they were "men's Sabbaths, not his own," was "because they were celebrated without the fear of God, by a people full of iniquities." See Isa. 1:13, 14. 4. "By the same prophet [Isa. 58:13; 56:2], he declares them [the Sabbaths] to be 'true and delightful and inviolable.'" 5. "Thus Christ did not at all rescind the Sabbath." 6. "He kept the law thereof." 7. "The Sabbath day itself, which from the beginning had been consecrated by the benediction of the Father." This language expressly assigns the origin of the Sabbath to the act of the Creator at the close of the first week of time. 8. Christ imparted to the Sabbath "an additional sanctity by his own beneficent action." 9. "He furnished to this day divine safeguards,--a course which his adversary would have pursued for some other days, to avoid honoring the Creator's Sabbath, and restoring to the Sabbath the works which were proper for it." This last statement is indeed very remarkable. Christ furnished "the Creator's Sabbath," the seventh day, with "divine safeguards." His adversary (THE adversary of Christ is the devil) would have had this course "pursued for some other days." That is to say, the devil would have been pleased had Christ consecrated some other day, instead of adding to the sanctity of his Father's Sabbath. What Tertullian says that the devil would have been pleased to have Christ do, that our first-day friends now assert that he did do in the establishment of what they call the Christian Sabbath! Such an institution, however, was never heard of in the days of the so-called Christian fathers. Notwithstanding Tertullian's many erroneous statements concerning the Sabbath and the law, he has here borne a noble testimony to the truth, and this completes his words. CHAPTER VIII. Fabian--Origen--Hippolytus--Novatian. TESTIMONY OF THE EPISTLES AND DECREES OF POPE FABIAN. This man was bishop of Rome from A. D. 236 to A. D. 250. The letters ascribed to Fabian were probably written at a considerably later date. We quote them, however, at the very point of time wherein they claim to have been written. Their testimony is of little importance, but they breathe the self-important spirit of a Roman bishop. We quote as follows:-- "You ought to know what is being done in things sacred in the church of Rome, in order that, by following her example, ye may be found to be true children of her who is called your mother. Accordingly, as we have received the institution from our fathers, we maintain seven deacons in the city of Rome, distributed over seven districts of the state, who attend to the services enjoined on them week by week, and on the Lord's days, and the solemn festivals," etc.--_Epistle First._ This pope is said to have made the following decree, which contains the only other reference to the so-called Lord's day to be found in the writings attributed to him:-- "We decree that on each Lord's day the oblation of the altar should be made by all men and women in bread and wine, in order that by means of these sacrifices they may be released from the burden of their sins."--_Decrees of Fabian_, b. v. chap. vii. In these quotations we see that the Roman church is made the mother of all churches, and also that the Roman bishop thinks himself the rightful ruler over all Christian people. And it is in fit keeping with these features of the great apostasy that the pope, instead of pointing sinful men to the sacrifice made on Calvary, should "decree that on each Lord's day" every person should offer an "oblation" of "bread and wine" on the altar, "that by means of THESE SACRIFICES they may be released from the burden of their sins"! TESTIMONY OF ORIGEN. Origen was born about A. D. 185, probably at Alexandria in Egypt. He was a man of immense learning, but unfortunately adopted a spiritualizing system in the interpretation of the Scriptures that was the means of flooding the church with many errors. He wrote during the first half of the third century. I have carefully examined all the writings of every Christian writer preceding the council of Nice with the single exception of Origen. Some of his works, as yet, I have not been able to obtain. While, therefore, I give the entire testimony of every other father on the subject of inquiry, in his case I am unable to do this. But I can give it with sufficient fullness to present him in a just light. His first reference to the Sabbath is a denial that it should be literally understood. Thus he says:-- "There are countless multitudes of believers who, although unable to unfold methodically and clearly the results of their spiritual understanding, are nevertheless most firmly persuaded that neither ought circumcision to be understood literally, nor the rest of the Sabbath, nor the pouring out of the blood of an animal, nor that answers were given by God to Moses on these points. And this method of apprehension is undoubtedly suggested to the minds of all by the power of the Holy Spirit."--_De Principiis_, b. ii. chap. vii. Origen asserts that the spiritual interpretation of the Scriptures whereby their literal meaning is set aside is something divinely inspired! But when this is accepted as the truth who can tell what they mean by what they say? In the next chapter he quotes Isa. 1:13, 14, but with reference to the subject of the soul and not to that of the Sabbath. In chapter xi., alluding again to the hidden meaning of the things commanded in the Scriptures, he asserts that when the Christian has "returned to Christ" he will, amongst other things enumerated, "see also the reasons for the festival days, and holy days, and for all the sacrifices and purifications." So it seems that Origen thought the spiritual meaning of the Sabbath, which he asserted in the place of the literal, was to be known only in the future state! In book iv. chapter i., he quotes Col. 2:16, but gives no exposition of its meaning. But having asserted that the things commanded in the law were not to be understood literally, and having intimated that their hidden meaning cannot be known until the saints are with Christ, he proceeds in section 17 of this chapter to prove that the literal sense of the law is impossible. One of the arguments by which he proves the point is, that men were commanded not to go out of their houses on the Sabbath. He thus quotes and comments on Ex. 16:29:-- "'Ye shall sit, every one in your dwellings; no one shall move from his place on the Sabbath day,' which precept it is impossible to observe literally; for no man can sit a whole day so as not to move from the place where he sat down." Origen quotes a certain Samaritan who declares that one must not change his posture on the Sabbath, and he adds, "Moreover the injunction which runs, 'Bear no burden on the Sabbath day,' seems to me an impossibility." This argument is framed for the purpose of proving that the Scriptures cannot be taken in their literal sense. But had he quoted the text correctly there would be no force at all to his argument. They must not go out to gather manna, but were expressly commanded to use the Sabbath for holy convocations, that is, for religious assemblies. Lev. 23:3. And as to the burdens mentioned in Jer. 17:21-27, they are sufficiently explained by Neh. 13:15-22. Such reasons as these for denying the obvious, simple signification of what God has commanded, are worthy of no confidence. In his letter to Africanus, Origen thus alludes to the Sabbath, but without further remarking upon it:-- "You will find the law about not bearing a burden on the Sabbath day in Jeremiah as well as in Moses." Though these allusions of Origen to the Sabbath are not in themselves of much importance, we give them all, that his testimony may be presented as fully as possible. His next mention of the Sabbath seems from the connection to relate to Paul:-- "Was it impious to abstain from corporeal circumcision, and from a literal Sabbath, and literal festivals, and literal new moons, and from clean and unclean meats, and to turn the mind to the good and true and spiritual law of God," etc.--_Origen against Celsus_, b. ii. chap. vii. We shall soon get his idea of the true Sabbath as distinguished from the "literal" one. He gives the following reason for the "literal Sabbath" among the Hebrews:-- "In order that there might be leisure to listen to their sacred laws, the days termed 'Sabbath,' and the other festivals which existed among them, were instituted." Book iv. chap. xxxi. What Origen mentions as the reason for the institution of the Sabbath is in fact only one of its incidental benefits. The real reason for its institution, viz., that the creation of the heavens and the earth should be remembered, he seems to have overlooked because so literally expressed in the commandment. Of God's rest-day he thus speaks:-- "With respect, however, to the creation of the world, and the 'rest [_Sabbatismou_] which is reserved after it for the people of God,' the subject is extensive, and mystical, and profound, and difficult of explanation." Book v. chap. lix. Origen's next mention of the Sabbath not only places the institution of the Sabbath at the creation, but gives us some idea of his "mystical" Sabbath as distinguished from "a literal" one. Speaking of the Creator's rest from the six days' work he thus alludes to Celsus:-- "For he [Celsus] knows nothing of the day of the Sabbath and rest of God, _which follows the completion of the world's creation_, and _which lasts during the duration of the world_, and in which all those will keep festival with God who have done all _their_ works in _their_ six days, and who, because they have omitted none of their duties, will ascend to the contemplation [of celestial things], and to the assembly of righteous and blessed beings." Book vi. chap. lxi. Here we get an insight into Origen's mystical Sabbath. It began at creation, and will continue while the world endures. To those who follow the letter it is indeed only a weekly rest, but to those who know the truth it is a perpetual Sabbath, enjoyed by God during all the days of time, and entered by believers either at conversion or at death. And this last thought perhaps explains why he said before that the reasons for days observed by the Hebrews would be understood after this life. But last of all we come to a mention of the so-called Lord's day by Origen. As he has a mystical or perpetual Sabbath like some of the earlier fathers, in which, under pretense of keeping every day as a Sabbath, they actually labor on every one, so has he also, like what we have found in some of them, a Lord's day which is not merely one definite day of the week, but which embraces every day, and covers all time. Here are his words:-- "For 'to keep a feast,' as one of the wise men of Greece has well said, 'is nothing else than to do one's duty;' and that man truly celebrates a feast who does his duty and prays always, offering up continually bloodless sacrifices in prayer to God. That therefore seems to me a most noble saying of Paul, 'Ye observe days, and months, and times, and years. I am afraid of you, lest I have bestowed upon you labor in vain.' "If it be objected to us on this subject that we ourselves are accustomed to observe certain days, as, for example, the Lord's day, the Preparation, the Passover, or Pentecost, I have to answer, that to the perfect Christian, who is ever in his thoughts, words, and deeds, serving his natural Lord, God the Word, _all his days are the Lord's_, and _he is always keeping the Lord's day_." Book viii., close of chapter xxi. and beginning of chapter xxii. With respect to what he calls the Lord's day, Origen divides his brethren into two classes, as he had before divided the people of God into two classes with respect to the Sabbath. One class are the imperfect Christians, who content themselves with the literal day; the other are the perfect Christians, whose Lord's day embraces all the days of their life. Undoubtedly Origen reckoned himself one of the perfect Christians. His observance of the Lord's day did not consist in the elevation of one day above another, for he counted them all alike as constituting one perpetual Lord's day, the very doctrine which we found in Clement of Alexandria, who was Origen's teacher in his early life. The keeping of the Lord's day with Origen as with Clement embraced all the days of his life, and consisted according to Origen in serving God in thought, word, and deed, continually; or as expressed by Clement, one "keeps the Lord's day when he abandons an evil disposition, and assumes that of the Gnostic." These things prove that Origen did not count Sunday as the Lord's day to be honored above the other days as a divine memorial of the resurrection, for he kept the Lord's day during every day in the week. Nor did he hold Sunday as the Lord's day to be kept as a day of abstinence from labor, while all the other days were days of business, for whatever was necessary to keeping Lord's day he did on every day of the week. As to the imperfect Christians who honored a literal day as the Lord's day, Origen shows what rank it stood in by associating it with the Preparation, the Passover, and the Pentecost, all of which in this dispensation are mere church institutions, and none of them days of abstinence from labor. The change of the Sabbath from the seventh day to the first, or the existence of the so-called Christian Sabbath was in Origen's time absolutely unknown. TESTIMONY OF HIPPOLYTUS, BISHOP OF PORTUS. Hippolytus, who was bishop of Portus, near Rome, wrote about A. D. 230. It is evident from his testimony that he believed the Sabbath was made by God's act of sanctifying the seventh day at the beginning. He held that day to be the type of the seventh period of a thousand years. Thus he says:-- "And 6000 years must needs be accomplished, in order that the Sabbath may come, the rest, the holy day on which God rested from all his works. For the Sabbath is the type and emblem of the future kingdom of the saints, when they shall reign with Christ, when he comes from Heaven, as John says in his Apocalypse: for a day with the Lord is as a thousand years. Since, then, in six days God made all things, it follows that six thousand years must be fulfilled."--_Commentaries on Various Books of Scripture._ Sect. 4, on Daniel. The churches of Ethiopia have a series of Canons, or church rules, which they attribute to this father. Number thirty-three reads thus:-- "That commemoration should be made of the faithful dead every day, with the exception of the Lord's day." The church of Alexandria have also a series which they ascribe to him. The thirty-third is thus given:-- "Of the _Atalmsas_ (the oblation), which they shall present for those who are dead, that it be not done on the Lord's day." The thirty-eighth one has these words:-- "Of the night on which our Lord Jesus Christ rose. That no one shall sleep on that night, and wash himself with water." These are the only things in Hippolytus that can be referred to the Sunday festival. Prayers and offerings for the dead, which we find some fifty years earlier in Tertullian, are, according to Hippolytus, lawful on every day but the so-called Lord's day. They grew up with the Sunday festival, and are of equal authority with it. Tertullian, as we have already observed, tells us frankly that there is no scriptural authority for the one or the other, and that they rest on custom and tradition alone. TESTIMONY OF NOVATIAN, A ROMAN PRESBYTER. Novatian, who wrote about A. D. 250, is accounted the founder of the sect called _Cathari_, or _Puritans_. He tried to resist some of the gross corruptions of the church of Rome. He wrote a treatise on the Sabbath, which is not extant. There is no reference to Sunday in any of his writings. In his treatise "On the Jewish Meats," he speaks of the Sabbath thus:-- "But how perverse are the Jews, and remote from the understanding of their law, I have fully shown, as I believe, in two former letters, wherein it was absolutely proved that they are ignorant of what is the true circumcision, and what the true Sabbath." Chapter i. If we contrast the doctrine of the Pharisees concerning the Sabbath with the teaching of the Saviour, or with that of Isaiah in his fifty-eighth chapter, we shall not think Novatian far from the truth in his views of the Jewish people. In his treatise "Concerning the Trinity" is the following allusion to the Sabbath:-- "For in the manner that as man he is of Abraham, so also as God he is before Abraham himself. And in the same manner as he is as man the 'Son of David,' so as God he is proclaimed David's Lord. And in the same manner as he was made as man 'under the law,' so as God he is declared to be 'Lord of the Sabbath.'" Chapter xi. These are the only references to the Sabbath in what remains of the writings of Novatian. He makes the following striking remarks concerning the moral law:-- "The law was given to the children of Israel for this purpose, that they might profit by it, and RETURN _to those virtuous manners_, which, although _they have received them from their fathers_, they had corrupted in Egypt by reason of their intercourse with a barbarous people. Finally, also, those _ten commandments_ on the tables _teach nothing new_, but _remind_ them of _what had been obliterated_--that righteousness in them, which had been put to sleep, might revive again as it were by the afflatus of the law, after the manner of a fire [nearly extinguished]."--_On the Jewish Meats_, chap. iii. It is therefore certain that in the judgment of Novatian, the ten commandments enjoined nothing that was not sacredly regarded by the patriarchs before that Jacob went down into Egypt. It follows, therefore, that in his opinion the Sabbath was made, not at the fall of the manna, but when God sanctified the seventh day, and that holy men from the earliest ages observed it. The Sunday festival with its varied names and titles he never mentions. CHAPTER IX. Cyprian--Dionysius of Alexandria--Anatolius--Commodianus--Archelaus. TESTIMONY OF CYPRIAN, BISHOP OF CARTHAGE. Cyprian wrote about A. D. 255. I find only two references to Sunday in his works. The first is in his thirty-second epistle (the thirty-eighth of the Oxford edition), in which he says of one Aurelius that "he reads on the Lord's day" for him. But in the second instance he defines the meaning of the term, and gives evidence in support of his application of it to the first day of the week. He is arguing in behalf of infant baptism, or rather in controverting the opinion that baptism should be deferred till the child is eight days old. Though the command to circumcise infants when eight days of age is one of the chief grounds of authority for infant baptism, yet the time in that precept according to Cyprian does not indicate the age of the child to be baptized, but prefigures the fact that the eighth day is the Lord's day. Thus he says:-- "For in respect of the observance of the eighth day in the Jewish circumcision of the flesh, a sacrament was given beforehand in shadow and in usage; but when Christ came, it was fulfilled in truth. For because the eighth day, that is, the first day after the Sabbath, was to be that on which the Lord should rise again, and should quicken us, and give us circumcision of the Spirit, the eighth day, that is, the first day after the Sabbath, and the Lord's day, went before in the figure; which figure ceased when by and by the truth came, and spiritual circumcision was given to us."--_Epistle_ lviii. sect. 4; in the Oxford edition, _Epistle_ lxiv. Circumcision is made to prove twin errors of the great apostasy, _infant baptism_ and that _the eighth day is the Lord's day_. But the eighth day in the case of circumcision was not the day succeeding the seventh, that is, the first day of the week, but the eighth day of the life of each infant, and therefore it fell on one day of the week as often as upon another. Such is the only argument addressed by Cyprian for first-day sacredness, and this one seems to have been borrowed from Justin Martyr, who, as we have seen, used it about one hundred years before him. It is however quite as weighty as the argument of Clement of Alexandria, who adduced in its support what he calls a prophecy of the eighth day out of the writings of the heathen philosopher Plato! And both are in the same rank with that of Tertullian, who confessed that they had not the authority of Scripture, but accepted in its stead that of custom and tradition! In his "Exhortation to Martyrdom," section 11, Cyprian quotes the larger part of Matt. 24, and in that quotation at verse 20, the Sabbath is mentioned, but he says nothing concerning that institution. In his "Testimonies against the Jews," book i., sections 9 and 10, he says "that the former law which was given by Moses, was about to cease," and that "a new law was to be given;" and in the conclusion of his "Treatise against the Jews," section 119, he says "that the yoke of the law was heavy which is cast off by us," but it is not certain that he meant to include in these statements the precepts of the moral law. TESTIMONY OF DIONYSIUS, BISHOP OF ALEXANDRIA. This father, who was one of Origen's disciples, wrote about A. D. 260. In the first canon of his "Epistle to Bishop Basilides" he treats of "the proper hour for bringing the fast to a close on the day of Pentecost." He has occasion to quote what the four evangelists say of the Sabbath and first-day in connection with the resurrection of Christ. But in doing this he adds not one word expressive of first-day sacredness, nor does he give it any other title than that of plain "first day of the week." The seventh day is simply called "the Sabbath." He also speaks of "the preparation and the Sabbath" as the "last two days" of a six days' fast, at the anniversary of the week of Christ's death. TESTIMONY OF ANATOLIUS, BISHOP OF LAODICEA. This father wrote about A. D. 270. He participated in the discussion of the question whether the festival of Easter, or passover, should be celebrated on the fourteenth day of the first month, the same day on which the Jews observed the passover, or whether it should be observed on the so-called Lord's day next following. In this discussion he uses the term Lord's day, in his first canon once, quoting it from Origen; in his seventh, twice; in his tenth, twice; in his eleventh, four times; in his twelfth, once; in his sixteenth, twice. These are all the instances in which he uses the term. We quote such of them as shed any light upon the meaning of it as used by him. In his seventh canon he says: "The obligation of the Lord's resurrection binds to keep the paschal festival on the Lord's day." In his tenth canon he uses this language: "The solemn festival of the resurrection of the Lord can be celebrated only on the Lord's day." And also "that it should not be lawful to celebrate the Lord's mystery of the passover at any other time but on the Lord's day, on which the resurrection of the Lord from death took place, and on which rose also for us the cause of everlasting joy." In his eleventh canon he says: "On the Lord's day was it that light was shown to us in the beginning, and now also in the end, the comforts of all present and the tokens of all future blessings." In his sixteenth canon he says: "Our regard for the Lord's resurrection which took place on the Lord's day will lead us to celebrate it on the same principle." The reader may be curious to know why a controversy should have arisen respecting the proper day for the celebration of the passover in the Christian church when no such celebration had ever been commanded. The explanation is this: The festival was celebrated solely on the authority of tradition, and there were in this case two directly conflicting traditions, as is fully shown in the tenth canon of this father. One party had their tradition from John the apostle, and held that the paschal feast should be celebrated every year "whenever the fourteenth day of the moon had come, and the lamb was sacrificed by the Jews." But the other party had their tradition from the apostles Peter and Paul that this festival should not be celebrated on that day, but upon the so-called Lord's day next following. And so a fierce controversy arose which was decided in A. D. 325, by the council of Nice, in favor of Saint Peter, who had on his side his pretended successor, the powerful and crafty bishop of Rome. The term Lord's day is never applied to Sunday till the closing years of the second century. And Clement, who is the first to make such an application, represents the true Lord's day as made up of every day of the Christian's life. And this opinion is avowed by others after him. But after we enter the third century the name Lord's day is quite frequently applied to Sunday. Tertullian, who lived at the epoch where we first find this application, frankly declares that the festival of Sunday, to which he gives the name of Lord's day, had no Scriptural authority, but that it was founded upon tradition. But should not the traditions of the third century be esteemed sufficient authority for calling Sunday the Lord's day? The very men of that century who speak thus of Sunday strenuously urge the observance of the feast of the passover. Shall we accept this festival which they offer to us on the authority of their apostolic tradition? As if to teach us the folly of adding tradition to the Bible as a part of our rule of faith, it happens that there are, even from the early part of the second century, two directly conflicting traditions as to what day should be kept for the passover. And one party had theirs from Saint John, the other had theirs from Saint Peter and Saint Paul! And it is very remarkable that although each of these parties claimed to know from one or the other of these apostles that they had the right day for the passover and the other had the wrong one, there is never a claim by one of these fathers that Sunday is the Lord's day because John on the isle of Patmos called it such! If men in the second and third centuries were totally mistaken in their traditions respecting the passover, as they certainly were, shall we consider the traditions of the third century sufficient authority for asserting that the title of Lord's day belongs to Sunday by apostolic authority? TESTIMONY OF COMMODIANUS. This person was a native of Africa, and does not appear to have ever held any office in the Christian church. He wrote about A. D. 270. The only allusions made by him to the Sabbath are in the following words addressed to the Jews:-- "There is not an unbelieving people such as yours. O evil men! in so many places, and so often rebuked by the law of those who cry aloud. And the Lofty One despises your Sabbaths, and altogether rejects your universal monthly feasts according to law, that ye should not make to him the commanded sacrifices; who told you to throw a stone for your offense."--_Instructions in Favor of Christian Discipline_, sect. 40. This statement is very obscure, and there is nothing in the connection that sheds any light upon it. His language may have reference to the ceremonial sabbaths, or it may include also the Sabbath of the Lord. If it includes the Sabbath made for man it may be intended, like the words of Isa. 1:13, 14, to rebuke the hypocrisy of those who profess to keep it rather than to condemn the institution itself. He makes only one use of the term Lord's day, and that is as obscure as is his reference to the subject of the Sabbath. Here it is:-- "Neither dost thou fear the Lord, who cries aloud with such an utterance; even he who commands us to give food even to our enemies. Look forward to thy meals from that Tobias who always on _every day_ shared them entirely with the poor man. Thou seekest to feed him, O fool, who feedeth thee again. Dost thou wish that he should prepare for me, who is setting before him his burial? The brother oppressed with want, nearly languishing away, cries out at the splendidly fed, and with distended belly. What sayest thou of the Lord's day? If he have not placed himself before, call forth a poor man from the crowd whom thou mayest take to thy dinner. In the tablets is your hope from a Christ refreshed." Section 61. Whether Commodianus meant to charge his brethren to relieve the hungry on one day only of the week, or whether he held to such a Lord's day as that of Clement of Alexandria, Origen, and others (namely, one that includes every day of the life of him who refrains from sin), and so would have his brethren imitate Tobias, who fed the hungry _every day_, must be left undetermined. He could not have believed that Sunday was the Lord's day by divine appointment, for he refers to the passover festival (which rests solely upon the traditions and commandments of men) as coming "once in the year" and he designates it as "Easter that day of ours _most blessed_." Section 75. The day of the passover was therefore in his estimation the most sacred day in the Christian church. TESTIMONY OF ARCHELAUS, BISHOP OF CASCAR. This person wrote about A. D. 277, or according to other authorities he wrote not far from A. D. 300. He flourished in Mesopotamia. What remains of his writings is simply the record of his "Disputation with Manes," the heretic. I do not find that he ever uses the term "Lord's day." He introduces the Sabbath and states his views of it thus:-- "Moses, that illustrious servant of God, committed to those who wished to have the right vision, an emblematic law, and also a real law. Thus, to take an example, after God had made the world, and all things that are in it, in the space of six days, he rested on the seventh day from all his works; by which statement I do not mean to affirm that he rested because he was fatigued, but that he did so as having brought to its perfection every creature which he had resolved to introduce. And yet in the sequel it (the new law) says: 'My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.' Does that mean, then, that he is still making heaven, or sun, or man, or animals, or trees, or any such thing? Nay; but the meaning is, that when these visible objects were perfectly finished, he rested from that kind of work; while, however, he still continues to work at objects invisible with an inward mode of action, and saves men. In like manner, then, the legislator desires also that every individual among us should be devoted unceasingly to this kind of work, even as God himself is; and he enjoins us consequently to rest continuously from secular things, and to engage in no worldly sort of work whatsoever; and this is called our Sabbath. This he also added in the law, that nothing senseless should be done, but that we should be careful and direct our life in accordance with what is just and righteous." Section 31. These words appear to teach that he held to a perpetual Sabbath, like Justin Martyr, Tertullian, and others. Yet this does not seem possible, inasmuch as, unlike Justin, who despises what he calls days of "idleness," this writer says that we are "to engage in no worldly sort of work whatsoever and this is that our Sabbath." It is hardly possible that he could hold it a wicked thing to labor on one or all of the six working days. Yet he either means to assert that it is sinful to work on a single one of the days, or else he asserts the perpetual obligation of that Sabbath which it is manifest he believed originated when God set apart the seventh day, and which he acknowledges on the authority of what "he also added in the law." We shall shortly come to his final statement, which seems clearly to show that the second of these views was the one held by this writer. After showing in this same section that the death penalty at the hand of the magistrate for the violation of the Sabbath is no longer in force because of forgiveness through the Saviour, and after answering the objection of Manes in sections 40, 41, 42, that Christ in healing on the Sabbath directly contradicted what Moses did to those who in his time violated the Sabbath, he states his views of the perpetuity of the ancient Sabbath in very clear language. Thus he says:-- "Again, as to the assertion that the Sabbath has been abolished, we deny that he has abolished it plainly (_plane_); for he was himself also Lord of the Sabbath. And this (the law's relation to the Sabbath) was like the servant who has charge of the bridegroom's couch, and who prepares the same with all carefulness, and does not suffer it to be disturbed or touched by any stranger, but keeps it intact against the time of the bridegroom's arrival; so that when he is come, the bed may be used as it pleases himself, or as it is granted to those to use it whom he has bidden enter along with him." Section 42. Three things are plainly taught. 1. The law sacredly guarded the Sabbath till the coming of Christ. 2. When Christ came, he did not abolish the Sabbath, for he was its Lord. 3. And the whole tenor of this writer's language shows that he had no knowledge of the change of the Sabbath in honor of Christ's resurrection, nor does he even once allude to the first day of the week. CHAPTER X. Victorinus--Peter--Methodius--Lactantius--Poem on Genesis--Conclusion. TESTIMONY OF VICTORINUS, BISHOP OF PETAU. This person wrote about A. D. 300. His bishopric was in Germany. Of his work on the "Creation of the World," only a fragment is now preserved. In the first section he speaks thus of the sanctification of the seventh day:-- "God produced that entire mass for the adornment of his majesty in six days; on the seventh to which he consecrated it [some words are here lost out of the text] with a blessing. For this reason, therefore, because in the septenary number of days both heavenly and earthly things are ordered, in place of the beginning. I will consider of this seventh day after the principle of all matters pertaining to the number seven." Victorinus, like some other of the fathers, held that the "true and just Sabbath should be observed in the seventh millenary." He believed that the Sabbath was abolished by the Saviour. He was in sympathy with the act of the church of Rome in turning the Sabbath into a fast. He held to a two days' weekly fast, as his words necessarily imply. He would have men fast on the sixth day to commemorate Christ's death, and on the seventh, lest they should seem to keep the Sabbath with the Jews, but on the so-called Lord's day they were to go forth to their bread with giving of thanks. Thus he reasons:-- "On this day [the sixth] also, on account of the passion of the Lord Jesus Christ, we make either a station to God, or a fast. On the seventh day he rested from all his works, and blessed it, and sanctified it. On the former day [the sixth] we are accustomed to fast rigorously, that on the Lord's day we may go forth to our bread with giving of thanks. And let the _parasceve_ [the sixth day] become a rigorous fast, lest we should appear to observe any Sabbath with the Jews, which Christ himself, the Lord of the Sabbath, says by his prophet that 'his soul hateth;' which Sabbath he in his body abolished, although, however, he had formerly himself commanded Moses that circumcision should not pass over the eighth day, which day very frequently happens on the Sabbath, as we read written in the gospel. Moses, foreseeing the hardness of that people, on the Sabbath raised up his hands, therefore, and thus fastened himself to a cross. And in the battle they were sought for by the foreigners on the Sabbath day, that they might be taken captive, and, as if by the very strictness of the law, might be fashioned to the avoidance of its teachings." Section 4. These statements are in general of little consequence, but some of them deserve notice. First, we have one of the grand elements which contributed to the abandonment of the Sabbath of the Lord, viz., hatred toward the Jews for their conduct toward Christ. Those who acted thus forgot that Christ himself was the Lord of the Sabbath, and that it was his institution and not that of the Jews to which they were doing despite. Secondly, it was the church of Rome that turned the Sabbath into a fast one hundred years before this, in order to suppress its observance, and Victorinus was acting under its instructions. Thirdly, we have a reference to the so-called Lord's day, as a day of thanksgiving, but no connection between it and the Sabbath is indicated for in his time the change of the Sabbath had not been thought of. He has other reasons for neglecting the seventh day which here follow:-- "And thus in the sixth psalm for the eighth day, David asks the Lord that he would not rebuke him in his anger, nor judge him in his fury; for this is indeed the eighth day of that future judgment, which will pass beyond the order of the sevenfold arrangement. Jesus also, the son of Nave, the successor of Moses, himself broke the Sabbath day; for on the Sabbath day he commanded the children of Israel to go round the walls of the city of Jericho with trumpets, and declare war against the aliens. Matthias also, prince of Judah, broke the Sabbath; for he slew the prefect of Antiochus the king of Syria on the Sabbath, and subdued the foreigners by pursuing them. And in Matthew we read, that it is written Isaiah also and the rest of his colleagues broke the Sabbath--that that true and just Sabbath should be observed in the seventh millenary of years. Wherefore to those seven days the Lord attributed to each a thousand years; for thus went the warning: 'In mine eyes, 0 Lord, a thousand years are as one day.' Therefore in the eyes of the Lord each thousand of years is ordained, for I find that the Lord's eyes are seven. Wherefore, as I have narrated, that true Sabbath will be in the seventh millenary of years, when Christ with his elect shall reign." Section 5. This completes the testimony of Victorinus. He evidently held that the Sabbath originated at the sanctification of the seventh day, but for the reasons here given, the most of which are trivial, and all of which are false, he held that it was abolished by Christ. His argument from the sixth psalm, and from Isaiah's violation of the Sabbath, is something extraordinary. He had an excellent opportunity to say that though the seventh-day Sabbath was abolished, yet we have the Christian Sabbath, or the Lord's day, to take its place. But he shows positively that he knew of no such institution; for he says, "That true and just Sabbath" will be "in the seventh millenary of years." TESTIMONY OF PETER, BISHOP OF ALEXANDRIA. This father wrote about A. D. 306. In his "Canon 15" he thus sets forth the celebration of the fourth, the sixth, and the first days of the week:-- "No one shall find fault with us for observing the fourth day of the week, and the preparation [the sixth day], on which it is reasonably enjoined us to fast according to the tradition. On the fourth day, indeed, because on it the Jews took counsel for the betrayal of the Lord; and on the sixth, because on it he himself suffered for us. But the Lord's day we celebrate as a day of joy, because on it he rose again, on which day we have received it for a custom not even to bow the knee." On this Balsamon, an ancient writer whose commentary is appended to this canon, remarks that this canon is in harmony with the 64th apostolical canon, which declares "that we are not to fast on the Sabbath, with one exception, the great Sabbath [the one connected with the passover], and to the 69th canon, which severely punishes those who do not fast in the Holy Lent, and on every fourth day of the week and day of preparation." So it appears that they were commanded by the canons to fast on the fourth and sixth days of the week, and forbidden to do this on the Sabbath and first-day. Zonaras, another ancient commentator upon the canons of Peter, gives us the authority upon which these observances rest. No one of these three days is honored by God's commandment. Zonaras mentions the fasts on the fourth and sixth days, and says no one will find fault with these. But he deems it proper to mark Peter's reason for the Lord's-day festival, and the nature of that festival. Thus he says:-- "But on the Lord's day we ought not to fast, for it is a day of joy for the resurrection of the Lord, and on it, says he, we have received that we ought not even to bow the knee. This word, therefore, is to be carefully observed, 'we have received' and 'it is enjoined upon us according to the tradition.' For from hence it is evident that long-established custom was taken for law. Moreover, the great Basil annexes also the causes for which it was forbidden to bend the knee on the Lord's day, and from the passover to Pentecost." The honors which were conferred upon this so-called Lord's day are specified. They are two in number. 1. It was "a day of joy," and therefore not a day of fasting. 2. On it they "ought not even to bow the knee." This last honor however applied to the entire period of fifty days between the passover and the Pentecost as well as to each Sunday in the year. So that the first honor was the only one which belonged to Sunday exclusively. That honor excluded fasting, but it is never said to exclude labor, or to render it sinful. And the authority for these two first-day honors is frankly given. It is not the words of holy Scripture nor the commandment of God, but "it is enjoined upon us according to the tradition. For from hence it is evident that long-established custom was taken for law." Such is the testimony of men who knew the facts. In our days men dare not thus acknowledge them, and therefore they assert that the fourth commandment has been changed by divine authority, and that it is sinful to labor upon the first day of the week. TESTIMONY OF METHODIUS, BISHOP OF TYRE. This father wrote about A. D. 308, and suffered martyrdom in A. D. 312. A considerable portion of his writings have come down to our time, but in them all I find not one mention of the first day of the week. He held to the perpetuity of the ten commandments, for he says of the beast with ten horns:-- "Moreover, the ten horns and stings which he is said to have upon his heads are the ten opposites, O virgins, to the decalogue, by which he was accustomed to gore and cast down the souls of many, imagining and contriving things in opposition to the law, 'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God,' and to the other precepts which follow."--_Banquet of the Ten Virgins_, Discourse viii. chap. xiii. In commenting on the feast of tabernacles (Lev. 23:39-43) he says:-- "These things being like air and phantom shadows, foretell the resurrection and the putting up of our tabernacle that had fallen upon the earth, which at length, in the seventh thousand of years, resuming again immortal, we shall celebrate the great feast of true tabernacles in the new and indissoluble creation, the fruits of the earth having been gathered in, and men no longer begetting and begotten, but God resting from the works of creation." Discourse ix. chap. i. Methodius understood the six days of creation, and the seventh day sanctified by the Creator, to teach that at the end of 6000 years the great day of joy shall come to the saints of God:-- "For since in six days God made the heaven and the earth, and finished the whole world, and rested on the seventh day from all his works which he had made, and blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, so by a figure in the seventh month, when the fruits of the earth have been gathered in, we are commanded to keep the feast to the Lord, which signifies that, when this world shall be terminated at the seventh thousand years, when God shall have completed the world, he shall rejoice in us." Discourse ix. chap. i. sect. 4. In the fifth chapter of this discourse he speaks of the day of Judgment as "the millennium of rest, which is called the seventh day, even the true Sabbath." He believed that each day of the first seven represented one thousand years, and so the true Sabbath of the Lord sets forth the final triumph of the saints in the seventh period of a thousand years. And in his work "On Things Created," section 9, he refers to this representation of one day as a thousand years, and quotes in proof of it Ps. 90:2, 4. Then he says:-- "For when a thousand years are reckoned as one day in the sight of God, and from the creation of the world to his rest is six days, so also to our time, six days are defined, as those say who are clever arithmeticians. Therefore, they say that an age of six thousand years extends from Adam to our time. For they say that the Judgment will come on the seventh day, that is, in the seventh thousand years." The only weekly Sabbath known to Methodius was the ancient seventh day sanctified by God in Eden. He does not intimate that this divine institution has been abolished; and what he says of the ten commandments implies the reverse of that, and he certainly makes no allusion to the festival of Sunday, which on the authority of "custom" and "tradition" had been by so many elevated above the Sabbath of the Lord. TESTIMONY OF LACTANTIUS. Lactantius was born in the latter half of the third century, was converted about A. D. 315, and died at Treves about A. D. 325. He was very eminent as a teacher of rhetoric, and was intrusted with the education of Crispus, the son of Constantine. The writings of Lactantius are quite extensive; they contain, however, no reference to the first day of the week. Of the Sabbath he speaks twice. In the first instance he says that one reason alleged by the Jews for rejecting Christ was, "That he destroyed the obligation of the law given by Moses; that is, that he did not rest on the Sabbath, but labored for the good of men," etc.--_Divine Institutes_, b. iv. chap. xvii. It is not clear whether Lactantius believed that Christ violated the Sabbath, nor whether he did away with the moral law while teaching the abrogation of the ceremonial code. But he bears a most decisive testimony to the origin of the Sabbath at creation:-- "God completed the world and this admirable work of nature in the space of six days (as is contained in the secrets of holy Scripture), and CONSECRATED the seventh day, on which he had rested from his works. But this is the Sabbath day, which in the language of the Hebrews received its name from the number, whence the seventh is the legitimate and complete number." Book vii. chap. xiv. It is certain that Lactantius did not regard the Sabbath as the memorial of the flight out of Egypt, but as that of the creation of the heavens and the earth. He also believed that the seven days prefigured the seven thousand years of our earth's history:-- "Therefore, since all the works of God were completed in six days, the world must continue in its present state through six ages, that is, six thousand years. For the great day of God is limited by a circle of a thousand years, as the prophet shows, who says, 'In thy sight, O Lord, a thousand years are as one day.' And as God labored during those six days in creating such great works, so his religion and truth must labor during these six thousand years, while wickedness prevails and bears rule. And again, since God, having finished his works, rested the seventh day and blessed it, at the end of the six thousandth year all wickedness must be abolished from the earth, and righteousness reign for a thousand years and there must be tranquility and rest from the labors which the world now has long endured." Book vii. chap. xiv. Thus much for Lactantius. He could not have believed in first-day sacredness, and there is no clear evidence that he held to the abrogation of the Sabbath. Finally we come to a poem on Genesis by an unknown author, but variously attributed to Cyprian, to Victorinus, to Tertullian, and to later writers. TESTIMONY OF THE POEM ON GENESIS. "The seventh came, when God At his works' end did rest, DECREEING IT SACRED UNTO THE COMING AGES' JOYS." Lines 51-53. Here again we have an explicit testimony to the divine appointment of the seventh day to a holy use while man was yet in Eden, the garden of God. And this completes the testimony of the fathers to the time of Constantine and the Council of Nice. One thing is everywhere open to the reader's eye as he passes through these testimonies from the fathers: they lived in what may with propriety be called the age of apostatizing. The apostasy was not complete, but it was steadily developing itself. Some of the fathers had the Sabbath in the dust, and honored as their weekly festival the day of the sun, though claiming for it no divine authority. Others recognize the Sabbath as a divine institution which should be honored by all mankind in memory of the creation, and yet at the same time they exalt above it the festival of Sunday, which they acknowledge had nothing but custom and tradition for its support. The end may be foreseen: in due time the Sunday festival obtained the whole ground for itself, and the Sabbath was driven out. Several things conspired to accomplish this result:-- 1. The Jews, who retained the ancient Sabbath, had slain Christ. It was easy for men to forget that Christ as Lord of the Sabbath had claimed it as his institution, and to call the Sabbath a Jewish institution which Christians should not regard. 2. The church of Rome as the chief in the work of apostasy took the lead in the earliest effort to suppress the Sabbath by turning it into a fast. 3. In the Christian church almost from the beginning men voluntarily honored the fourth, the sixth, and the first days of the week to commemorate the betrayal, the death, and the resurrection of Christ, acts of respect in themselves innocent enough. 4. But the first day of the week corresponded to the widely observed heathen festival of the sun, and it was therefore easy to unite the honor of Christ with the convenience and worldly advantage of his people, and to justify the neglect of the ancient Sabbath by stigmatizing it as a Jewish institution with which Christians should have no concern. The _progressive_ character of the work of apostasy with respect to the Sabbath is incidentally illustrated by what Giesler, the distinguished historian of the church, says of the Sabbath and first-day in his record of the first, the second, and the third century. Of the first century he says:-- "Whilst the Christians of Palestine, who kept the whole Jewish law, celebrated of course all the Jewish festivals, the heathen converts observed only the Sabbath, and, in remembrance of the closing scenes of our Saviour's life, the passover (1 Cor. 5:6-8), though without the Jewish superstitions, Gal. 4:10; Col. 2:16. Besides these the Sunday as the day of our Saviour's resurrection (Acts 20:7; 1 Cor. 16:2; Rev. 1:10), #hê kyriakê hêmera#, was devoted to religious worship."--_Giesler's Ecclesiastical History_, vol. i. sect. 29, edition 1836. Sunday having obtained a foothold, see how the case stands in the second century. Here are the words of Giesler again:-- "Both Sunday and the Sabbath were observed as festivals; the latter however without the Jewish superstitions therewith connected."--_Id._ vol. i. sect. 52. This time, as Giesler presents the case, Sunday has begun to get the precedence. But when he gives the events of the third century he drops the Sabbath from his record and gives the whole ground to the Sunday and the yearly festivals of the church. Thus he says:-- "In Origen's time the Christians had no general festivals, excepting the Sunday, the Parasceve (or preparation), the passover, and the feast of Pentecost. Soon after, however, the Christians in Egypt began to observe the festival of the Epiphany, on the sixth of January."--_Id._ vol. i. sect. 70. These three statements of Giesler, relating as they do to the first, second, and third centuries, are peculiarly calculated to mark the progress of the work of apostasy. Coleman tersely states this work in these words:-- "The observance of the Lord's day was ordered while the Sabbath of the Jews was continued; nor was the latter superseded until the former had acquired the same solemnity and importance, which belonged, at first, to that great day which God originally ordained and blessed.... But in time, after the Lord's day was fully established, the observance of the Sabbath of the Jews was gradually discontinued, and was finally denounced as heretical."--_Ancient Christianity Exemplified_, chap. xxvi. sect. 2. We have traced the work of apostasy in the church of Christ, and have noted the combination of circumstances which contributed to suppress the Sabbath, and to elevate the first day of the week. And now we conclude this series of testimonies out of the fathers by stating the well-known but remarkable fact, that at the very point to which we are brought by these testimonies, the emperor Constantine while yet, according to Mosheim, a heathen, put forth the following edict, A. D. 321, concerning the ancient Sunday festival:-- "Let all the judges and town people, and the occupation of all trades, rest on the venerable day of the sun: but let those who are situated in the country, freely and at full liberty, attend to the business of agriculture; because it often happens that no other day is so fit for sowing corn and planting vines; lest, the critical moment being let slip, men should lose the commodities granted by Heaven." By the act of a wicked man the heathen festival of Sunday has now ascended the throne of the Roman Empire. We cannot here follow its history through the long ages of papal darkness and apostasy. But as we close, we cite the words of Mosheim respecting this law as a positive proof that up to this time, as shown from the fathers, Sunday had been a day of ordinary labor when men were not engaged in worship. He says of it:-- "The first day of the week, which was the ordinary and stated time for the public assemblies of the Christians, _was, in consequence of a peculiar law enacted by Constantine, observed with greater solemnity than it had formerly been_."--Mosheim, century 4, part ii. chap. iv. sect. 5. This law restrained merchants and mechanics, but did not hinder the farmer in his work. Yet it caused the day to be observed with greater solemnity than formerly it had been. These words are spoken with reference to Christians, and prove that in Mosheim's judgment, as a historian, Sunday was a day on which ordinary labor was customary and lawful with them prior to A. D. 321, as the record of the fathers indicates, and as many historians testify. But even after this the Sabbath once more rallied, and became strong even in the so-called Catholic church, until the Council of Laodicea A. D. 364 prohibited its observance under a grievous curse. Thenceforward its history is principally to be traced in the records of those bodies which the Catholic church has anathematized as heretics. FOOTNOTES: [A] Those who compose this class are unanimous in the view that the Sunday festival was established by the church; and they all agree in making it their day of worship, but not for the same reason; for, while one part of them devoutly accept the institution as the Lord's day on the authority of the church, the other part make it their day for worship simply because it is the most convenient day. [B] Such is the exact nature of the covenant mentioned in Ex. 24:8; and Paul, in Heb. 9:18-20, quotes this passage, calling the covenant therein mentioned "the first testament," or covenant. [C] The case of Origen is a partial exception. Not all his works have been accessible to the writer, but sufficient of them have been examined to lay before the reader a just representation of his doctrine. [D] We notice that one first-day writer is so determined that Clement shall testify in behalf of Sunday, that he deliberately changes his words. Instead of giving his words as they are, thus: "the _latter_, properly the Sabbath," in which case, as the connection shows, Saturday is the day intended, he gives them thus: "The _eighth_, properly the Sabbath," thereby making him call Sunday the Sabbath. This is a remarkable fraud, but it shows that the words as written by Clement could not be made to uphold Sunday. See "The Lord's Day," by Rev. G. H. Jenks, p. 50. TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Greek transliterations are surrounded by pound signs: #hebdomas#. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. 
27266	----	THE SEVENTH DAY SABBATH A PERPETUAL SIGN FROM THE BEGINNING, TO THE ENTERING INTO THE GATES OF THE HOLY CITY ACCORDING TO THE COMMANDMENT. BY JOSEPH BATES. "Brethren, I write no new commandment unto you, but an old commandment which ye had from the _beginning_. The old commandment is the WORD which ye have heard from the _beginning_." _John_ ii: 7. "In the _beginning_ God created the heaven and the earth." _Gen._ i: 1. "And God blessed the seventh day, and rested from all his work." ii: 3. "Blessed are they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life and enter in," &c. _Rev._ xxii: 14. [SECOND EDITION REVISED AND ENLARGED] NEW BEDFORD: PRESS OF BENJAMIN LINDSEY 1847 [ii]PREFACE TO THE LITTLE FLOCK. "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." "Six days work may be done, but the SEVENTH is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work." This commandment I conceive to be as binding now as it ever was, and will be to the entering into the "gates of the city." Rev. xxii: 14. I understand that the SEVENTH day Sabbath is not the LEAST one, among the ALL things that are to be restored before the second advent of Jesus Christ, seeing that the Imperial and Papal power of Rome, since the days of the Apostles, have changed the seventh day Sabbath to the first day of the week! Twenty days before God re-enacted and wrote the commandments with his finger on tables of stone, he required his people to keep the Sabbath. Exo. xvi: 27, 30. Here he calls the Sabbath "MY COMMANDMENTS AND MY LAWS." Now the SAVIOR has given his comments on the commandments. See Matt. xxii: 35, 40.--"On these two (precepts) hang ALL the law and the prophets." Then it would be impossible for the Sabbath to be left out. A question was asked, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? Says Jesus, "If thou wilt enter into life keep the commandments"--xix. Here he quotes five from the tables of stone. It is still clearer in Luke x. 25, 28. "What is written in the law? how readest thou?" Here he gives the Savior's exposition in xxii. Matt. as above. Jesus says, "Thou hast answered right, this do and live." See also Matt. v: 17, 19, 21, 27, 33. PAUL comments thus. "The law is holy, and the commandments holy, just and good." "Circumcission and uncircumcission is nothing but the keeping the commandments of God." "All the law is fulfilled in one word: thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." JOHN says, "the old commandment is the WORD from the beginning."--2, 7.--Gen. ii: 3. "He carries us from thence into the gates of the city." Rev. xxii: 14. Here he has particular reference to the Sabbath. JAMES calls it the PERFECT, royal law of liberty, which we are to be doers of, and be judged by. Take out the fourth commandment and the law is imperfect, and we shall fail in one point. The uncompromising advocate for present truth, which feeds and nourishes the little flock in whatever country or place, is the restorer of all things; one man like John the Baptist, cannot discharge this duty to every kindred, nation, tongue and people, and still remain in one place. The truth is what we want. FAIRHAVEN, AUGUST, 1846. JOSEPH BATES. [iii]PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. TO THE LITTLE FLOCK. My reasons for issuing a second edition of this book are, First, the increasing demand for them, from different quarters. Second, it affords me an opportunity of spreading additional light from the Word on this important subject of present truth. Much more is said about it than any doctrine in the bible, beginning in Genesis, and continuing down to the closing up of the last message which God ever gave to man, proving clearly that the doing of these commandments saves the soul; showing it more clearly than a strict adherence to the Constitution of these United States proves the man a sound patriot. Therefore in this sense they are strictly the constitution of the bible, the everlasting covenant between God and man, and can never be changed or altered while man is stamped with the image of God. Why then has the church lost sight of them? or rather the Covenant in them of the 7th day Sabbath? See history 43d page, and Dan. vii. 25. Well then how does it come to be understood at this point of time? Answer.--The angel Gabriel told Daniel that knowledge should increase in the time of the end. This of course included the scriptures, particularly since the proclamation of the everlasting Gospel in Rev. xiv: 6, 13. It is well known how this knowledge has increased since 1840. These ten Commandments being the foundation of the scriptures. (See Matt. xxii.) God, in a peculiar manner, to instruct his honest, confiding children, shows them spiritually under the sounding of the seventh Angel, the ark of his testament after the temple of God was opened in heaven. xi: 19. These are the ten commandments. Here then I understand is where the spirit made an indelible impression to search the scriptures for the TESTIMONY of God. It was done, and published to the world by many, that the professed church had been walking in open violation of the fourth commandment since the days of the Apostles.--Every one that has read the history of this TESTIMONY of God in the ark, must see the mighty power that accompanied it through Israel and Philistine, one of the greatest wonders that ever existed [iv]in this world, a pattern only of what was seen in the opening of the Temple in heaven. In the xiv: 12, John sees them obeying its dictates. In the xv ch. he describes the division as in the xiv ch. they were rejoicing over the victory of the beast, (got out of the churches,) standing on or by the sure word of prophecy, (some say immortality.) The 4th v. says, "for all nations SHALL come (in the future) and worship before thee." "After that I looked and behold the Temple of the Tabernacle of the TESTIMONY in heaven was open," 5th v. (that is after their songs of rejoicing.) The Temple which contained the Tabernacle, the ark of the testimony, or ten commandments was open. Now this Temple without doubt is the new Jerusalem. Who cannot see that this Temple has been opened for some purpose, but not to be entered by man until the seven last plagues are fulfilled. Here is a space of time in which the commandments will be fully kept. I do not say that this view of the Ark in Rev. is positive, but I think the inference is strong. I cannot see what else it refers to. On pages 15, 16, I have added about 24 lines in further explanation of Coll. ii: 14, 17. On 16th page, I have also added about as much more to illustrate and distinguish the Sabbath feasts of the Jewish nation. On the nineteenth page I have given about forty lines on the 2d Cor. iii, which I think must settle these points fully. The last fourteen pages are principally devoted to the covenants and what they are intended for. The two covenants made with man in this state of mortality, is first by God delivered to Moses. The second or new, by Jesus Christ and his disciples. Paul in speaking of them to the Gal. iv: 24, says these are THE TWO COVENANTS. All the others belong to the Saints after the second advent. If any of the brethren feel it a duty to help pay for the paper and printing of this edition the way is open, otherwise it will be done by a few individuals here, as was the first edition. This work is sent forth gratuitously, with a fervent prayer that these present precious truths may be set home on the soul preparatory to the coming judgment. Since issuing the first edition in August last, we have publicly called on all the advent lecturers and believers to show us if we were wrong on the Lord's Sabbath. Once more we now challenge the Christian world to show us if they can from the Bible, where we have taken a wrong view of the seventh day Sabbath. Fairhaven, Jan. 1847. J. B. [5]THE SABBATH FIRST QUESTION IS, WHEN WAS THE SABBATH INSTITUTED? Those who are in the habit of reading the Scriptures just as they find them, and of understanding them according to the established rules of interpretation, will never be at a loss to understand so plain a passage as the following: "And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it; because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made." Gen. ii: 3. Moses, when referring to it, says to the children of Israel. "This is that which the Lord hath _said_, to-morrow is the REST of _the_ holy Sabbath unto the Lord." Exod. xvi: 23. Then we understand that God established the seventh day Sabbath in Paradise, on the very day when he rested from all his work, and not one week, nor one year, nor two thousand five hundred and fourteen years afterwards, as some would have it. Is it not plain that the Sabbath was instituted to commemorate the stupendous work of creation, and designed by God to be celebrated by his worshipers as a weekly Sabbath, in the same manner as the Israelites were commanded to celebrate the Passover, from the very night of their deliverance till the resurrection of Jesus from the dead; or as we, as a nation, annually celebrate our national independence: or as type answers to antetype, so we believe this must run down, to the "keeping of the Sabbath to the people of God" in the immortal state. It is argued by some, that because no mention is made of the Sabbath from its institution in Paradise till the falling of the manna in the wilderness, mentioned in Exo. xvi: 15, that it was therefore _here_ instituted for the Jews, but [6]we think there is bible argument sufficient to sustain the reply of Jesus to the Pharisees, "that the Sabbath was made for MAN and not man for the Sabbath." If it was made for any one exclusively it must have been for Adam the father of us all, two thousand years before Abraham who is claimed as the father of the Jews was born. John says, the old commandment was from the beginning--1; ii: 7. There is pretty strong inference that the antideluvians measured time by weeks from the account given by Noah, when the waters of the deluge began to subside. He "sent out a dove which soon returned." At the end of _seven_ days he sent her out again; and at the end of _seven_ days more, he sent her out a third time. Now why this preference for the number _seven_? why not five or ten days, or any other number? Can it be supposed that his fixing on upon _seven_ was accidential? How much more natural to conclude that it was in obedience to the authority of God, as expressed in the 2d chap. of Gen. A similar division of time is incidentally mentioned in Gen. xxix; "fulfil her _week_ and we will give thee this also; and Jacob did so and fulfilled her _week_." Now the word _week_ is every where used in Scripture as we use it; it never means more nor less than _seven_ days (except as symbols of years) and one of them was in all other cases the Sabbath. But now suppose there had been an entire silence on the subject of the Sabbath for this twenty-five hundred years, would that be sufficient evidence that there was none. If so, we have the same evidence that there was no Sabbath from the reign of Joshua till the reign of David, four hundred and six years, as no mention is made of it in the history of that period. But who can be persuaded that Samuel and the pious Judges of Israel did not regard the Sabbath. What does God say of Abraham? that he "obeyed my voice, and kept my charge, my _commandments_, my _statutes_ and my _laws_." (See what he calls them in Exo. xvi: 27, 30.) This, of course, includes the whole. Then Abraham reverenced God's Sabbath. Once more, there is no mention of the circumcision from the days of Joshua till the days of Jeremiah, a period of more than eight hundred years. Will it be believed that Samuel and David, and all those pious worthies with the whole Jewish nation, neglected that essential seal of the covenant for eight hundred years? It cannot be admitted for a moment. How [7]then can any one suppose from the alleged silence of the sacred history that Adam, Enoch, Noah and Abraham, kept no Sabbath because the fact was not stated? If we turn to Jer. ix: 25, 26, we find that they had not neglected this right of circumcision, only they had not circumcised their hearts; so that the proof is clear, that silence respecting the keeping any positive command of God, is no evidence that it is not in full force. Again, if the Sabbath was not instituted in Paradise, why did Moses mention it in connection with the creation of the world? Why not reserve this fact for two or three thousand years in his history, until the manna fell in the wilderness, (see Exo. xvi: 23) and then state that the seventh day Sabbath commenced, as _some_ will have it? I answer, for the very best of reasons, that it did not commence there. Let us examine the text. "And it came to pass, that on the sixth day they gathered twice as much bread as on any preceding day, and _all the rulers of the congregation came and told Moses_. And he said unto them this is that which the Lord hath said, _to-morrow is the rest of the holy sabbath_, bake that which ye will bake, &c. &c." If this had been the establishing of the holy Sabbath and Moses had said to-morrow _shall be_ the Sabbath, then would it have been clear; but no, he speaks as familiarly about it as we do when we say that to-morrow is the Sabbath, showing conclusively that it was known before, or how could the people have known that they must gather two day's manna on Friday the sixth day, unless they had had some previous knowledge of the Sabbath? for Moses had already taught them not to "leave any of it until the morning"--v. 19. The 20th verse shows that the Sabbath had not yet come since their receiving the manna, because it spoiled and "bred worms by the next morning;" whereas, on the Sabbath morning it was found sweet and eatible--24th v. This was the thirtieth day after leaving Egypt (1st v.) and twenty days before it was given on Sinai. The weekly Sabbath then was appointed before this or before the days of Moses. Where was it then? Answer in the second chapter of Genesis and no where else; and the same week on which the manna fell, the weekly Sabbath was revived among or with God's chosen people. Grotius tells us "that the memory of the creation's being performed in seven days, was preserved not only among the Greeks and Italians, but among the Celts and Indians." Other [8]writers say Assyrians, Egyptians, Arabians, Britons and Germans, all of whom divide their time into weeks. Philo says "the Sabbath is not peculiar to any one people or country, but is common to all the world." Josephus states "that there is no city either of Greeks or barbarians or any _other nation_, where the religion of the Sabbath is not known." But as they, like the great mass of God's professed people in christendom, paid little or no heed to what God had said about the particular day, (except the Jews, and a few others) they (as we are informed in history) adopted peculiar days to suit themselves, viz: the christian nations chose to obey the Pope of Rome, who changed the _seventh_ day Sabbath to the first day, and called it the holy Sabbath; the Persians selected Monday; the Grecians Tuesday; the Assyrians Wednesday; the Egyptians Thursday; the Turks Friday, and the Jews the seventh day, Saturday, as God had commanded. Three standing miracles a week, for about forty years annually, ought to perpetuate the Sabbath. 1st, double the quantity of manna on the sixth day; 2d, none on the seventh; 3d, did not spoil on the seventh day. If it does not matter which day you keep holy to the Lord, then all these nations are right. Now reflect one moment on this, and then open your bible and read the commandment of the God of all these nations! "REMEMBER! (what you have been taught before) _the Sabbath day to keep it holy_;" (which day is it Lord?) "_the_ SEVENTH _is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy man servant nor thy maid servant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger, that is within thy gates_." Who is the stranger? (Gentiles.) Now the reason for it will carry us back to paradise. "_For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is; and rested on the_ SEVENTH; _wherefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it_." "Wherefore the children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath, to observe the _Sabbath_ throughout their generations for a _perpetual covenant_; it is a SIGN between me and the children of Israel _forever_." (Why is it Lord?) "_For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the_ SEVENTH _day he rested and was refreshed_." Exo. xx and xxxi.--Which day now will you choose? O, says the reader, the seventh if I knew which of the days it was. If you don't know, why are you so sure that the _first_ day is right? O, [9]because the history of the world has settled that and this is the most we can know. Very well then, does not the _seventh_ come the day before the eighth? If we have not got the days of the week right now, it is not likely that we ever shall. God does not require of us any more than what we know; by that we shall be judged. Luke xxii: 55, 56. Once more; think you that the spirit of God ever directed Moses when he was giving the history of the creation of the world, to write that he (God) "blessed the _seventh_ day and sanctified it, because that in it he had rested from all his work." unless he meant it to be dated from that very day? Why, this is as clear to the unbiassed mind as it is that God created man the sixth day. Would it not be the height of absurdity to attempt to prove that God only intended Adam should be created at some future period, or that the creation of the heavens and earth was not in the beginning, but some twenty five hundred years afterwards? All this would be as cogent reasoning as it would be to argue that God did not intend this day of _rest_ should commence until about twenty-five hundred years afterwards. (The word Sabbath signifies rest.) It follows then irresistibly, that the weekly Sabbath was not made for the Jews only, (but as Jesus says, for 'man') for the Jews had no existence until more than two thousand years after it was established. President Humphrey in his essays on the Sabbath says, "That he (God) instituted it when he rested from all his work, on the _seventh_ day of the first week, and gave it primarily to our first parents, and through them to all their posterity; that the observance of it was enjoined upon the children of Israel soon after they left Egypt, not in the form of a new enactment, but as an ancient institution which was far from being forgotten, though it had doubtless been greatly neglected under the cruel domination of their heathen masters; that it was re-enacted with great pomp and solemnity, and written in stone by the finger of God at Sinai; that the sacred institution then took the form of a statute, with explicit prohibitions and requirements, and has never been repealed or altered since; that it can never expire of itself, because it has no limitation." In Deut. vii: 6-8, God gives his reasons for selecting the Jews to keep his covenant in preference to any other nation; only seventy at first--x: 22. God calls it his "Sabbath," and refers us right back to the creation for [10]proof. "For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth and sea, and all that in them is, and rested on the _seventh_," &c. Here then we stand fixed by the immutable law of God, and the word of Jesus, that "the Sabbath was made for man!" Paul says, "there is no respect of persons with God." Rom. ii: 11. Isaiah shows us plainly that the Jew is not the only one to be blessed for keeping the Sabbath. He says "Blessed is the _man_ (are not the Gentiles men?) that keepeth the Sabbath from polluting it." "Also the sons of the stranger, (who are these if they are not Gentiles?) every one that keepeth the Sabbath from polluting it, (does he mean me? yes, every gentile in the universe, or else he respects persons) even them will I bring to my holy mountain and make them joyful in my house of prayer; for my house shall be called an house of prayer for _all_ people." Isa. lvi: 2, 6, 7. If this promise is not to the Gentile as well as the Jew, then "_the_ house of prayer for all people" is no promise to the Gentile. Now we ask, if God has ever abrogated the law of the Sabbath? If he has it can easily be found. We undertake to say without fear of contradiction, he has not made any such record in the bible; but on the contrary, he calls it a perpetual covenant, a "sign between me and the children of Israel forever," for the reason that he rested on the seventh day, Exo. xxxi: 16, 17. Says one, has not the ceremonial law been annulled and nailed to the cross? Yes, but what of that? Why then the Sabbath must be abolished, for Paul says so! Where? Why in Cols. 2d chapter, and xiv. Romans. How can you think that God ever inspired Paul to say that the _seventh_ day Sabbath was made void or nailed to the cross at the crucifixion, when he never intended any such change; if he did, he certainly would have deceived the inhabitants of Jerusalem, in the promise which he made them about two thousand four hundred and forty-six years ago! Turn now to Jer. xvii: 25, and tell me if he did not promise the inhabitants of Jerusalem that their city should remain forever if they would hallow the sabbath day. Now suppose the inhabitants of Jerusalem had entered into this agreement, and entailed it upon their posterity (because you see it could not have been fulfilled unless it had continued from generation to generation,) to keep the Sabbath holy, would not God have been bound to let Jerusalem remain forever? You say yes. Well, then, I ask you to show how he could have [11]kept that promise inviolate if he intended in less than six hundred and fifty years to change this seventh day Sabbath, and call the first day of the week the Sabbath, or abolish it altogether? I say, therefore, if there has been any change one way or the other in the Sabbath, since that promise, it would be impossible to understand any other promise in the Bible; how much more reasonable to believe God than man. If men will allow themselves to believe the monstrous absurdity that FOREVER, as in this promise, ended at the resurrection, then they can easily believe that the Sabbath was changed from the _seventh_ to the first day of the week. Or if they choose the other extreme, abolished until the people of God should awake to be clothed on with immortality. Heb. iv: 9. Now does it not appear plain that the Sabbath is from God, and that it is coeval and co-extensive (as is the institution of marriage) with the world. That it is without limitation; that there is not one thus saith the Lord that it ever was or ever will be abolished, in time or eternity.--See Exod. xxxi: 16, 17; and Isa. lxvi: 22, 24; Heb iv: 4, 9. But let us return and look at the subject as we have commenced in the light of Paul's argument to the Romans and Collossians, for here is where all writers on this subject, for the change or the overthrow of the _seventh_ day Sabbath attempt to draw their strong arguments. The second question then, is this: HAS THE SABBATH BEEN ABOLISHED SINCE THE SEVENTH DAY OF CREATION? IF SO, WHEN, AND WHERE IS THE PROOF? The text already referred to, is in Rom. xiv: 5, 6.--"One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be persuaded in his own mind. He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord; and he that regardeth not the day to the Lord, he doth not regard it." Does the apostle here mean to say, that under the new or Christian dispensation it is a matter of indifference which day of the week is kept as a Sabbath, or whether any sabbath at all is kept? Was that institution which the people of God had been commanded to call a delight, the holy of the Lord, honorable, now to be esteemed of so carnal a nature as to be ranked among the things which Jesus "took out of the way, nailing it to [12]his cross." If this be true, then has Jesus, in the same manner, abolished the eight last verses in the fifty-eighth of Isaiah, and the 2d, 6th and 7th verses of the 56th chapter have no reference to the Gentile since the crucifixion. O Lord help us rightly to understand and divide thy word. But is it not evident from the four first verses in the same chapter of Romans, that Paul is speaking of feast days; Hear him explain. "Destroy not him with thy _meat_ for whom Christ died. For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink." 15, 17 v, also 20, 23. Giving them again in substance the decrees which had been given by the Apostles in their first conference, in A. D. 51; held at Jerusalem. See Acts xv: 19. James proposes their letter to the Gentiles should be "that they abstain from pollution of Idols, and from fornication, and from things strangled, and from blood;" to which the conference all agreed. Now please read their unanimous _decrees_ (xvi: 4,) from twenty-three to thirty verses. "For it seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us, to lay upon you no greater burden than these necessary things." "That ye abstain from meats offered to Idols, and from blood, and from things strangled, and from fornication, from which if ye keep yourselves ye shall do well." Reading along to the 13th of the next chapter, we find Paul establishing the Churches with these decrees; (see 4, 5,) and at Philippi he holds his meeting, (not in the Jews Synagogue) but at the river's side, on the _Sabbath_ day. A little from this it is said that Paul is in Thesalonica preaching on the Sabbath days. Luke says this was his _manner_. What was it? Why, to preach on the Sabbath days (not 1st days.) Observe here were three Sabbaths in succession. xvii: 2. A little while from this Paul locates himself in Corinth, and there preaches to the Jews and Greeks (or Gentiles) a year and six months _every Sabbath_. Now this must have been seventy-eight in succession. xviii: 4, 11. Does this look like abolishing the Sabbath day? Has anything been said about the 1st day yet? No, we shall speak of that by and by. Before this he was in Antioch. "And when the Jews were gone out of the synagogue the GENTILES besought that these words might be preached to them the next Sabbath. And the next Sabbath day came almost the whole city together to hear the word of God." xiii: 42, 44. Here is proof that the Gentiles kept the Sabbath. Now I wish to place the other strong text which is so strangely adhered to for abolishing or changing this Sab[13]bath along side of this, that we may understand his meaning. "Blotting out the hand-writing of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross." "Let no man therefore judge you in meat, or in drink, or in respect of a holy day, or of the new moon, or of the Sabbath days." Coll. ii: 14, 16. Now here is one of the strong arguments adhered to by all those who say the seventh day Sabbath was abolished at the crucifixion of our Lord: while on the other hand by the great mass of the Christian world, (so called,) the seventh day Sabbath ceased here, and in less than forty-eight hours the change was made to the first day of the week. Now remember Paul's manner, (before stated) itinerating from city to city and nation to nation, always preaching to Jews and Gentiles on the seventh day Sabbath, (for there is no other day called the Lord's Sabbath in the Bible.) Now if the Apostle did mean to include the Sabbath of the Lord God with the Jewish feasts and Sabbaths in the text, then the course he took to do so, was the strangest imaginable. His _manner_ always was, as recorded, with the exception of one night, to preach on the very day that he was laboring to abolish. If you will look at the date in your bibles, you will learn this same apostle had been laboring in this way as a special messenger to the Gentiles, between twenty and thirty years since (as you say) the Sabbath was changed or abolished, and yet never uttered one word with respect to any other day in the week to be set apart as a holy day or Sabbath. I understand all the arguments about his laboring in the Jewish Synagogue on their Sabbath, because they were open for worship on that day, &c., but he did not always preach in their Synagogues. He says that he preached the Kingdom of God, and labored in his own hired house for two years. He also established a daily meeting for disputation in the school of Tyranus.--Acts xix: 9. Again he says, I have "kept _back_ NOTHING that was PROFITABLE _unto you_. (Now if the Sabbath had been changed or abolished, would it not have been _profitable_ to have told them so?) and have taught you publicly, and from house to house." "For I have not shunned to declare unto you ALL the council of God."--Acts xx; 20, 27. Then it is clear that he taught them by example that the Sabbath of the Lord God was not abolished. Luke says it was the _custom_ (or manner) of Christ [14]to teach in the synagogues on the Sabbath day. iv: 16, 31. Mark says, "And when the Sabbath day was come he began to teach in their synagogue." Mark vi: 2.--Now if Jesus was about to abolish or change this Sabbath, (which belonged to the first code, the moral law, and not the ceremonial, the second code, which was to be nailed to his cross, or rather, as said the angel Gabriel to Daniel, ix: 27, "he (Christ) in the midst of the week shall cause the _sacrifice_ and _oblation_ to cease," meaning that the Jewish sacrifices and offerings would cease at his death.) Jesus did not attend to any of the ceremonies of the Jews except the passover and the feasts of tabernacles. Why did he say, "Think not I am come to destroy the _law_ or the prophets? I am not come to destroy but fulfill. One jot or one title shall in no wise pass from the _law_ until all be fulfilled." "Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments" &c. Did he mean the ten commandments? Yes; for he immediately points out the third, not to take God's name in vain; sixth and seventh, not to kill nor to commit adultery, and styles them the _least_. Then, the others, which include the fourth, of course were greater than these. Matt. v; 17-19, 21, 27, 33, and were not to be broken nor pass away. Then the Sabbath stands unchanged. Almost every writer which I have read on the subject of abolishing or changing the seventh day Sabbath, calls it the Jewish Sabbath, hence their difficulty. How can it be the Jewish Sabbath when it was established two thousand years before there was a Jew on the face of the earth, and certainly twenty-five hundred before it was embodied in the decalogue, or re-enacted and written in stone by the finger of God at Sinai. God called this HIS _Sabbath_, and Jesus says it was made for man, (not particularly for the Jews.) "Well," says one, "what is the meaning of the texts which you have quoted, where it speaks of Sabbaths?"--Answer: These are the Jewish Sabbaths! which belong to them as a nation, and are connected with their feasts. God by Hosea makes this distinction, and says, "I will also cause all _her_ mirth to cease, her feast days, her new moons, and _her_ Sabbaths, and all her solemn feasts." These then belong to the text quoted, and not God's Sabbath. Do you ask for the proof? See xxiii Levit. 4. "_These are the_ FEASTS _of the Lord, which ye shall proclaim in their [15]seasons_, EVERY THING UPON HIS DAY"--37th v. (May we not deviate a little? If you do it will be at your peril.) Fifteenth and sixteenth verses give them a fifty day's Sabbath; twenty-fourth verse says: "Speak unto the children of Israel, saying in the seventh month in the first day of the month, shall ye have a _Sabbath_, a memorial of blowing of trumpets, an holy convocation." "Also on the tenth day of the seventh month there shall be a day of atonement. It shall be unto you a _Sabbath_ of rest." 27, 32. "Also on the fifteenth day of the seventh month when ye shall have gathered in the fruit of the land, ye shall keep a feast unto the Lord seven days. On the first shall be a Sabbath, and on the eighth day shall be a Sabbath. 39th v. And Moses _declared_ unto the children of Israel the FEASTS of the Lord." 44th v. Now here we have FOUR kinds of _Jewish_ Sabbaths, also _called_ "FEASTS _of the Lord_," to be kept annually. The first fifty days or seven weeks Sabbath ends the third month, seventh. In three months and twenty-four days more commences the second Sabbath, seventh month, first; the next, the tenth; the last the fifteenth of the month. Between the first two Sabbaths there is an interval of one hundred and twelve days; the next two, ten days, and the next, five days. Now it can be seen at a glance, that neither of these Sabbaths could be on the seventh day any oftener than other annual feast could come on that day. These then are what Hosea calls HER Sabbaths. Paul calls them HOLY DAYS, _new moons, and sabbaths_; and this is what they are stated to be. The first day of the seventh month is a _new moon_ SABBATH, the tenth is a Sabbath of rest and Holy convocation, a day of atonement, and the fifteenth a feast of Sabbaths. Do you ask for any more evidence that these are the Jewish Sabbaths, and that God's Sabbath is separate from them? Read then what God directed Moses to write in the third verse: "Six days shall work be done, but the _seventh_ day is the Sabbath of rest, an holy convocation, ye shall do no work therein, it is the Sabbath of the LORD in your dwellings." Now Moses has here declared from the mouth of the Lord, that these are ALL the feast of the Lord, (there is no more nor less) and every thing is to be upon _his day_, and he has clearly and definitely separated his Sabbath from the other four. But let us look at the text again. Coll. ii; 14-16. See 17 v. [16]"which are a _shadow_ of things to come." What did the apostle say were _shadows_? Why, meat, drink, holy day, new moon, sabbath days. 16th v. Heb. ix: 10. What does he mean by shadow? See Heb. x: 1, 2. Just what I have stated on page 14. Now here we have one _clear_, positive point. If the seventh day Sabbath is included in the 17th verse, then it must be a _shadow_; if it is not a _shadow_, then Paul has no reference to it, and it stands forever! Moses says the ten commandments were written by the finger of God on tables of stone; whatever God has done with his own hand is stamped with immortality, and is as enduring as the sun, moon and stars. Psl. viii: 3. But if the 4th commandment, the Sabbath of the Lord is a _shadow_ then all the other nine commandments _must_ be. Let us look at what are called by our Lord the least commandments, the 6th and 7th. "Thou shalt not kill."--"Thou shalt not commit adultry." Math. v: 19, 21, 27. Are these _shadows_? Is there an individual with common sense in the world that dare risk his reputation in such kind of logic? Then it is as clear as a sun beam that all the others are tangible substances, and will continue in full force while immortality endures; especially the 4th commandment, the Sabbath. See Isa. 66: 23, Heb. iv: 9, Rev. 22: 14. And in the 28th and 29th chapters of Numbers the sacrifices and offerings for each of these days are made so plain, beginning with the Sabbath, 9th v. that we have only to read the following to understand. 26. xxix: 1. First day, seventh month, (new moon;) 7th v., 10th day Sabbath; 12th v., 15th day Sabbath, and 35th v., 23d day Sabbath. I will endeavor to present it in a clearer point of view: Feast by fire connected with the Lord's and the Jewish Sabbaths. The Daily or continual [always] 2 lambs morning and evening. 3 quarts of flour for a meat offering, 2-1/2 pints of oil, 5 pints of wine--xxviii: 3-7. THE SABBATH DAY. 2 lambs, and six quarts of flour with oil. Here follow the Jewish feasts with their Sabbaths: 1st.--7th week Sabbath, 2 bullocks, 1 ram, 7 lambs, 1 goat, 24 quarts of flour--xxviii: 16, 17. 2d.--7th month Sabbath, 1 bullock, 1 ram, 7 lambs, 1 kid, 36 quarts of flour--xxix: 1-5. 3d.--10th of 7th month Sabbath, 1 bullock, 1 ram, 7 lambs, 2 kids, 36 quarts of flour--7-11. 4th.--15th of 7th month Sabbath, 13 bullocks, 2 rams, 14 lambs, 2 kids, 4-1/2 bushels of flour--12-16. 5th.--8th day Sabbath, 1 bullock, 1 ram, 7 lambs, 1 goat, 36 quarts of flour--35-39. [17]"And Moses told the children of Israel according to all that the Lord commanded Moses." Here is the 8th day Sabbath, which makes 5 Jewish Sabbaths, every one of them differing from the other and the Lord's Sabbath, no more connected with them than in the xxiii of Levit. just named. Here then is an unanswerable argument for a separation of the Jewish from the Lord's Sabbath, and shows conclusively what Paul calls "shadows" in ii Col: 17, and Hosea "her Sabbaths." And in the days of Nehemiah when Ezra had read the law to the people, viii (more than one thousand years after they were promulgated,) they bound themselves under an oath "to walk in God's law which was given _by the hand of Moses_, the servant of God." "And to observe and _do all the commandments_ of the Lord, our Lord." x: 29. And that there might be no misunderstanding about the kind of Sabbaths, they say, "If the people bring ware or any victuals on the Sabbath day to sell, that we would not buy it of them on the Sabbath or on the holy day," (31 v.) but they would "charge themselves yearly with a third part of a shekel" (to pay for) "the burnt _offerings_ of the _Sabbaths_, of the _new moons_, for the _set feasts_," &c. (33 v.) for the house of God, including what has already been set forth in Leviticus and Numbers. Now as their feast days commenced and ended with a Sabbath, so when their feasts ceased to be binding on them these Sabbaths must also, and all were "nailed to the cross." Now I ask if there is one particle of proof that the Sabbath of the Lord is included in these sabbaths and feast days?--Who then dare join them together or contradict the Most High God, and call HIS the _Jewish_ Sabbath? _Theirs_ was nailed to the cross when Jesus died, while the Lord's is an _everlasting_ sign a _perpetual covenant_. The Jews, as a nation, broke their covenant. Jesus and his disciples were one week (the last of the seventy) that is seven years, confirming the new covenant for another people, the Gentiles. Now I ask if this changing the subjects from Jew to Gentile made void the commandments and law of God, or in other words, abolished the fourth commandment? If so, the other nine are not binding. It cannot be that God ever intended to mislead his subjects. Let us illustrate this. Suppose that the Congress of these United States in their present emergency, should promulgate two separate codes of laws, one to be perpetual, and the other temporary, to be abolished when peace was proclaimed between this country and Mexico. The time _comes_, the temporary laws are [18]abolished: but strange to hear, a large portion of the people are now insisting upon it that because peace is proclaimed that both these codes of laws are forever abolished; while another class are _strenuously_ insisting that it is only the _fourth_ law in the perpetual code that's now abolished, with the temporary and all the rest is still binding. Opposed to all these is a third class, headed by the ministers and scribes of the nation, who are writing and preaching from Maine to Florida, insisting upon it without fear of contradiction, that when peace was proclaimed this fourth law in the perpetual code was to change its date to another day, gradually, (while some of them say immediately) and thenceforward become perpetual, and the other code abolished; and yet not one of these is able to show from the proceedings of Congress that the least alteration had ever been made in the perpetual code. Thus, to me, the case stands clear that neither of the laws or ten commandments in the first code, ever has or ever can be annulled or changed while mortality is stamped on man, for the very reason that God's moral law has no limitation. Jesus then brought in a new covenant, which continued the Sabbath by writing his law upon their hearts. Paul says, "written not with ink, but with the spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart." 2 Cor. iii: 3. And when writing to the Romans he shows _how_ the Gentiles are a law unto themselves. He says, they "shew the work of the law written in their hearts, their consciences always bearing them witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing or else excusing one another," (when will this be Paul) "in the day when God shall judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ according to my gospel." ii: 15, 16. How plain that this is all the change. The Jews by nature had the law given them on tables of stone, while the Gentiles had the law of commandments written on their hearts. Paul tells the Ephesians that it was "the law of commandments contained in ordinances," (ii: 15) not on tables that were nailed to the cross. If the ten commandments, first written by the finger of God on stone, and then at the second covenant on fleshy tables of the heart, are shadows can any one tell where we shall find the substance? We are answered, in Christ. Well, hear Isaiah. He says, "that he (Christ) will magnify the law and make it honorable." xlii: 21. Again, I ask, where was the necessity and of what use were the ten commandments written on our hearts, if it was not to render perfect obedience to [19]them. If we do not keep the day God has sanctified, then we break not the least, but one of the greatest of his commandments. Before we leave this part of our subject let us examine 2 Cor. iii: 7, 9, 11, 15. I have been told that these verses clearly prove the abolition of the 10 commandments. It is admitted by all our opponents, that the change which they so much insist upon, respecting the commandments, took place at the crucifixion of our Lord. It is clear from ii Col: 14 that the hand-writing of ordinances (the law of Moses) was then taken out of our way, and all that was contrary to us, but the 10 commandments were never contrary to us, especially the 4th, the Sabbath, for "it was made for man." The 2d or Gospel Covenant Paul tells the Hebs. is written upon our hearts. viii: 10. This is the same ten commandments; then instead of being taken away or abolished they are still nearer to us. See also 3d v of 2d Cor: iii. If Paul was laboring here to show the abolition of the ten commandments in A. D. 60, (look at the top of your bible for the date) pray tell me if you can what he meant by writing to the Romans the very same year and telling them that "the _law was holy, and the commandments holy, just and good_." That he meant no other than the _Law_ and _Commandments_ in the decalogue, see xiii: 8, 9. About four years after this he is exhorting the Ephesians to the keeping the 5th commandment. He says it is the "first commandment with promise." vi: 2. The same year that he writes the Romans he dates his 1st Epistle to the Cor. in ch. vii: 19, and says circumcision is nothing and uncircumcision is nothing, (what _is_, Paul?) but the _keeping the commandments of God_. Now all this was certainly more than twenty-five years after the crucifixion. Is not the proof then positive and forever established that Paul's preaching is right to the point in establishing the commandments of God instead of abolishing them? If I have not made it plain here, I would just say once more, that the Apostle's argument where he refers to the abolition of the law in Rom., Cor., Gall., see v: 14, Eph. and Heb. he always means the carnal commandments and laws of Moses, and not the commandments of God, as he has shown. See Acts xxi: 20, 21. Here is circumcision, and the customs, the _law_ of Moses, and not one breath about the Sabbath. But if you will trace back to the xviii: 4, 11, you will see that instead of abolishing THE Sabbath, Paul had just come from Corinth, where he had been preaching for 78 Sabbaths in succession. O Lord help thy people [20]to see THESE truths and keep thy law! Still, there are many other texts relating to the law, presented by the opposite view, to show that the law respecting the Sabbath is abolished. Let us look at some of them. But it will be necessary in the first place, to make a clear distinction between what is commonly called the MORAL AND CEREMONIAL LAW. Bro. S. S. Snow, in writing on this subject about one year ago, in the Jubilee Standard, asks "by what authority this distinction is made." He says, "neither our Lord or his apostles made any such distinction. When speaking of the law they never used the terms moral or ceremonial, but always spake of it as a _whole_, calling it _the_ law," and further says, "we must have a 'thus saith the Lord' to satisfy us." So I say. I have no doubt but thousands have stopped here; indeed, it has been to me the most difficult point to settle in this whole question. Now let us come to it fairly, and we shall see that the old and new testament writers have ever kept up the distinction, although it may in some parts seem to be one code of laws. From the twentieth chapter of Exodus, where the law of the Sabbath was re-enacted, and onward, we find two distinct codes of laws. The first was written on two tables of stone with the _finger_ of God; the _second_ was taken down from his mouth and recorded by the hand of Moses in a book. Paul calls the latter carnal commandments and ordinances, (rites or _ceremonies_) which come under two heads, religious and political, and are Moses's. The first code is God's. For proof see Exo. xvi: 28, 30. "How long refuse ye to keep _my_ commandments and _my_ laws: see for that the Lord hath given you the Sabbath--and so the people rested on the Sabbath day." Also in the book of Leviticus where the law of ceremonies is given to the levites or priests, Moses closes with these words "_These_ are the commandments which the Lord commanded Moses for the children of Israel in Mount Sinai"; in Heb. vii: 16, 18, called carnal commandments. Again, "the Lord said unto Moses, come up to me into the Mount, and be there; and I will give thee tables of stone, and a law, and commandments which I have written." Exo. xxiv: 12. Further he calls them the ten commandments--xxxiv: 28. And Moses puts them, "into the ark"--xl: 20. _Now for the second code of laws._ See Deut. xxxl: 9, 10; and xxiv: 26. "And when Moses had [21]finished writing the law, he commanded them to put _this book_ of the LAW (of ceremonies) in the side of the ark of the covenant to be read at the end of every seven years."--This is not the song of deliverance by Moses in the forty-four verses of the thirty-second chapter. For, eight hundred and sixty-seven years after this, in the reign of Josiah, king of Israel, the high priest found this book in "the temple," (2 Chron. xxxiv: 14, 15) which moved all Israel. One hundred and seventy-nine years further onward, Ezra was from morning till noon reading out of this book. Neh. viii: 3; Heb. ix: 19. Paul's comments. Bro. Snow says in regard to the commandments, "The principles of moral conduct embraced in the law, were binding before the law was given, (meaning that one of course at Mount Sinai) and are binding _now_; it is immutable and eternal! They are comprehended in one word, LOVE." If he meant, as we believe he did, to comprehend what Jesus did in the xix. and xxii. chap. Matt. 37-40, and Paul, and James, and John after him, then we ask how it is possible for him to reject from that code of laws, the only one, _the seventh day rest_, that was promulgated at the _beginning_, while at the same time the other nine, that were not written until about three thousand years afterwards, were eternally binding; without doubt, the whole ten commandments are coeval and coextensive with sin.--Again he says, "We readily admit, that if what is called the decalogue or ten commandments be binding on us, _we ought_ to observe the seventh day, for that was appointed by the Lord as the Sabbath day." Let us see if Jesus and his apostles do not make it binding. _First then, the distinction of the two codes by Jesus._ The Pharisees ask the Saviour why his disciples transgress the tradition of the elders? His answer is, "Why do ye transgress the commandment of God?" and he immediately cites them to the fifth commandment, Matt. xv: 4. Again, "the law and the prophets were until John; since that time the kingdom of God is preached," &c.--Luke xvi: 16. Jesus was three years after this introducing the gospel of the kingdom, unwaveringly holding his meetings on the Sabbath days, (which our opponents say were now about to be abolished; others say changed,) and never uttering a syllable to show to the contrary, but this was and always would be the holy day for worship. Mark says when the Sabbath (the Seventh day, for there was no other,) was come, he began to teach in the Synagogue, vi: [22]2. Luke says, "as his _custom_ was, he went into the Synagogue and taught on the Sabbath day." iv: 16, 31. Will it be said of him as it is of Paul on like occasions, some thirty years afterwards that he uniformly held his meetings on the Sabbath because he had no where else to preach, or that this day was the only one in the week in which the people would come out to hear him? Every bible reader knows better; witness the five thousand and the seven thousand, and the multitude that thronged him in the streets, in the cities and towns where they listened to him; besides, he was now establishing a new dispensation, while theirs was passing away. Then he did not follow any of their customs or rites or ceremonies which he had come to abolish. I have already quoted Matt. 5: 17, 18, where Jesus said he had come to fulfil the law, and immediately begins by showing them that they are not to violate one of the least of the commandments, and cites them to some--see v: 19, 21, 27, 33. Again, he is tauntingly asked "which is the great commandment in the law: Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the _first_ and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets." xxii: 36, 40. Here Jesus has divided the ten commandments into two parts, or as it is written on two tables of stone. The first four on the first table treat of those duties which we owe to God--the other six refer to those which we owe to man requiring perfect obedience. Once more, "One came and said unto him, good master what good thing shall I do that I may have eternal life? He said, If thou wilt enter into life keep the commandments. Then he asked him which. He cited him to the last part of what he called the second, loving his neighbor as himself." If he had cited him to the first table, as in the xxii, quoted above, he could not have replied "_all_ these have I kept from my youth up." Why? Because he would have already been perfect, for Jesus in reply to his question, what he should do to inherit eternal life, said he must "keep the commandments." Matt. xix: 16-20.--Is not the Sabbath included in these commandments?--Surely it is! Then how absurd to believe that Jesus, just at the close of his ministry, should teach that the way, the only way, to enter into life, was to keep the commandments, [23]one of which was to be abolished in a few months from that time, without the least intimation from him or his Father that it was to take place. I say again, if the Sabbath is abolished, we ask those who teach it to cite us to the chapter and verse, not to the law of rites and ceremonies which are abolished, for we have already shown that the Sabbath was instituted more than twenty-five hundred years before Moses wrote the carnal ordinances or ceremonies. God said, "Abraham kept _my_ charge, _my_ commandments, _my_ statutes, and _my_ laws." Gen. xxvi: 5. This must include the Sabbath, for the Sabbath was the first law given, therefore if Abraham did not keep the Sabbath, I cannot understand what commandments, statutes, and laws mean in this chapter. Jesus says, "As I have kept my Father's commandments," John xv: 10. Did he keep the commandments? Yes. Mark and Luke, before quoted--(but more of this in another place.) In John vii: 19, Jesus speaks of "Moses law," "_your law_," x: 34. Again, "_their_ law." xv: 25. Here then we show that Jesus kept up a clear distinction between what God calls _my_ law and commandments and Moses law, "_their_ law," "_your_ law." Let us now look at the argument of the Apostles. Paul preaching at Antioch taught the brethren that by Jesus Christ all who believe in him "are justified from all things from which ye could not be justified by the _Law of Moses_." Acts xiii: 39. The Pharisee said "that it was needful to circumcise them and commend them to keep the _Law of Moses_." xv: 5. Again, when Paul had come to Jerusalem the second time, (fourteen years from the time he met the Apostles in conference where they established the decrees for the churches. See Acts xx: 19; Gal. ii: 1,) the Apostles shewed him how many thousands of Jews there were which believed and were zealous of the _law_; "And they are informed of thee, that thou teachest _all_ the Jews which are among the Gentiles, to forsake _Moses_ and the _customs_." xxi: 20, 21. Any person who will carefully read the eight chapters here included, must be thoroughly convinced that the Apostle's troubles were about the law of ceremonies written and given by Moses, and nothing to do with the ten commandments. For you see a little before he comes to Jerusalem, he had been preaching at Corinth every Sabbath for eighteen months. xviii: 4, 11. And this, be it remembered, was more than twenty years after the Jewish Sabbaths and ceremonies were nailed to the cross.--And [24]you see that Paul was the man above all the Apostles to be persecuted on account of the abolition of the Jews' law of ceremonies, for he was the "_great_ apostle to the Gentiles:" and if the "Sabbath of the Lord our God" was to have been abolished when the Saviour died, Paul was the very man selected for that purpose. It is clear, therefore, that he did not abolish the seventh day Sabbath among the Gentiles. This same Apostle tells the Romans "that Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth." x: 4. Again, that "sin shall not have dominion over you, for ye are not under the _law_ but under grace." vi: 14. Once more: He says the Gentiles having not the _law_, are a _law_ unto themselves.--Why? Because, he says in the next verse, it shews the _law_ written on their hearts. The law of ceremonies? No that which was on tables of stone. ii: 14-16. We might quote much more which looks like embracing the whole law. Let us now look at a few texts in the same letter, which will draw a distinguishing line between the two codes of laws. Paul, in the vii ch. 9-13v, brings to view the carnal commandment, and the one unto life, and sums up his argument in these words: "Wherefore the _law_ is holy, and the commandment holy and just and good." In the 7v he quotes from the decalogue. Again, he that loveth another hath fulfilled the _law_. How? Why thou shalt not steal, nor commit adultery, nor bear false witness, nor covet, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. Therefore _love_ is the fulfilling of the law. Rom. xiii: 8, 10.--This then is what the Saviour taught the young man to do--to secure "eternal life." Matt. Once more, in concluding a long argument on the law in Rom. iii: 31 he closes with this language: "Do we then make void the law through faith? God forbid ye, _we establish the law_."--What _law_ is here established? Not the law of rites and ceremonies. What then, for Paul means some law. It can be no other than what he calls the law of "life," of "love," the ten commandments. How could even that be established twenty-nine years after the crucifixion if one of the _greatest_ commandments had been abolished out of the code, that is the Sabbath. Paul's letter to the Corinthians teaches that "circumcision is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing, but the _keeping_ of the commandments of God." vii: 19. Again, in his epistle to the Galatians, his phraseology is somewhat changed, but the argument is to the same point, although [25]some passages read as though every vestage of _law_ was swept by the board when Jesus hung upon the cross. For instance, such as the following: "But that no man is justified by the _law_ in the sight of God it is evident, for the just shall live by faith, and the LAW is not of faith, but the man that doeth them shall live by them." "Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the _law_, being made a curse for us." "But before faith came we were kept under the _law_, shut up unto the faith which should afterwards be revealed." "Wherefore the law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ that we might be justified by faith, but after that faith has come we are no longer under a schoolmaster." Gal. iii: 11-23, 23-25. Again: "For as many as are of the works of the _law_ are under the curse." 10v. Now are we to understand from these texts that whosoever continueth in the _law_ is cursed, and that the law _the whole law_, was abolished when Christ came as our schoolmaster, he being the "end of the law?" Rom. x: 4. If so, how is it possible for any man, even Paul himself, to be saved. But we do not believe that Paul taught these brethren any different doctrine than what has already been shown in the Acts, Romans, and Corinthians, and also the Eph., Phil., Col., and Heb. If he did not mean the law written by the hand of Moses, distinguishing it from the _law_ of the ten commandments, written by the finger of God on tables of stone, then pray tell me if you can, what he means (in the closing of this argument,) by saying, "For _all_ the LAW is FULFILLED in one word, even this: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." v: 14. Surely he is quoting the Saviour's words in Matthew xxii: 39, relative to the commandment of the Lord our God.--To his son Timothy he says: "Now the end of the commandment is charity," (love) meaning of course the last part of the ten commandments. In vi: 2, he says: "Bear ye one anothers burdens and so fulfil the _law_ of Christ." Does this differ from the _law_ of God? Yes, a little, for it is the new commandment, (some say the eleventh.) See John xiii: 34. "A new commandment I give unto you, (what is it, Lord?) that ye love one another." And also xv: 12. The other is to love our neighbor as ourself.--John says: "And this commandment have we from him (Christ,) that he who loveth God loveth his brother also." John iv: 21, and ii: 8-11. In his letter to the Ephesians he says: "Having abolished in his flesh the _enmity_ even the law of commandments contained in [26]ordinances." ii: 15. See the reverse in vi: 2 v. To the Collossians he asks, "Why as though living in the world, are ye subject to ordinances which all are to perish with their using?" And says: "Touch not, taste not, handle not." (Does Paul here teach us to forsake the ordinances of God, instituted by the Saviour--Baptism and the Lord's Supper? Yes, just as clearly as he does to forsake the whole law.) When writing to the Hebrews more than thirty years after the crucifixion, he calls these ordinances _carnal_, imposed on them (the Jews) until Christ our High Priest should come. ix: 10, 11. He also calls the law of commandments carnal too, and says: "For there is verily a disannulling of the commandments going before, for the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did." vii: 16, 18-19. "For when Moses had spoken _every precept_ to all the people according to the _law_ he took the blood of calves and of goats, with water, and scarlet wool, and hyssop, and sprinkled both the BOOK and all the people." ix: 19. Now we see clearly that the book of the law of Moses, from which Paul has been quoting through the whole before mentioned epistles, is as distinctly separate from the tables of stone (or fleshly table of the heart,) as they were when deposited in the Ark thirty-three hundred years ago. Therefore we think that here is clear proof that he has kept up the distinction between the "handwriting of ordinances" (meaning Moses' own handwriting in his book,) and the "ten commandments writen by the finger of God." Let us now turn to the Epistle of James, said to be written more than twenty-five years after the law of ceremonies was nailed to the cross, and see if he does not teach us distinctly, that we are bound to keep the commandments given on tables of stone. He says, "the man that shall be a DOER of the _perfect law_ of liberty shall be blessed in his deed." i: 25. "If ye fulfill the royal _law_ according to the scripture, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself, ye do well." Why? Because the Saviour in quoting from the commandments, in answer to the Ruler, what he should do to inherit eternal life, taught the same doctrine. Matt. xix: 19. Further: "For whosoever shall keep the whole _law_ and yet offend in one point, shall be guilty of _all_." In the next verse he quotes from the ten commandments again, namely, Adultery and Murder (what the Saviour in the fifth chapter of Matt. calls the [27]least, that is the smallest commandment,) and says if we commit them we become transgressors of the _law_. Of what _law_? Next verse says the _law_ of _liberty_ by which we are to be "judged." ii: 8, 11. Now will it not be admitted by every reasonable person that James has included the whole of the ten commandments, by calling them the perfect law of liberty. 2d, "The royal _law_ according to the scripture," and 3d, "the _law of liberty_ by which we are to be judged." (Royal relates to imperial and kingly.) Perfect means COMPLETE, _entire_, the WHOLE. Then I understand James thus: This _law_ emenated from the king, the Supreme Ruler of the universe, and to be perfect must be just what it was when it came from his hand, and that no _change_ had, or could take place, (and remember now, this is more than twenty-five years since the ceremonies with the Jewish Sabbaths were nailed to the cross,) for the very best of reasons, until the Judgment, because he shows we are to be judged by _that law_. Then I ask by what parity of reasoning any one can make the law of the ten commandments perfect, while they at the same time assert that the fourth one is abolished? and that on no better evidence than calling it the Jewish Sabbath. Now let us look at the Apostle John's testimony. "And hereby we do know that we know him if we keep his commandments. He that saith I know him and keepeth not his commandments is a LIAR, and the truth is not in him." Now no man, more especially one who professes to abide by the whole truth, feels entirely easy if he is called a _liar_. Now John please explain yourself.--Hear him: "Brethren, I write no new commandment unto you, but an _old_ commandment that ye had from the beginning. The old commandment is the _word_ which ye have heard from the BEGINNING." What do you mean by _beginning_? Turn to my gospel, 1st ch. "In the _beginning_ was the word,"--"the same was in the _beginning_ with God." 1, 2. See Gen. i ch: "In the _beginning_ God created the heavens and the earth." Then you are pointing us to the seventh day of creation, in which God instituted the seventh day Sabbath of rest, for the _old_ commandment in the _beginning_. ii: 3. Certainly there is no other place to point to. Does not Jesus point to the same place for the _beginning_ when marriage was first instituted. Matt. xix: 4. In my second letter to the church, I have taught the same doctrines: viz. "This is the commandment that as ye [28]have heard from the _beginnings ye should walk in it_." (practice it.) ii: 5, 6. "A _new_ commandment I write unto you." ii: 8 v. This is the one that Jesus gave us on that memorable night in which he was betrayed, after he had instituted the sacrament and washed our feet. He said "By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples if ye have love one to another." xiii: 34, 35. The first then teaches us, Love to God; 2d, to Love our neighbor as ourself; "on these two commandments (says Jesus) hang all the law and the prophets." Then we understand this is the essence of the ten commandments, and if we do not keep the Sabbath we do not love God. Jesus says, "If ye love me keep my commandments." We are repeatedly told that the Sabbath was changed or forever abolished, at the crucifixion of our Lord; and it is stated by the most competent authorities that John wrote this epistle about sixty years afterwards, and that about six years after this our blessed Lord revealed to him the state of the Church down to the judgment of the great day. In the xiv ch. Rev. 6-11, he saw three angels following each other in succession: first one preaching the everlasting gospel (second advent doctrine); 2d, announcing the fall of Babylon; 3d, calling God's people out of her by showing the awful destruction that awaited all such as did not obey. He sees the separation and cries out, "Here is the patience of the Saints, here are they that keep the _commandments_ of God and the faith of Jesus." And this picture was so deeply impressed upon his mind, that when the Savior said to him "Behold I come quickly and my reward is with me," he seemed to understand this, saying--"Blessed are they that _do_ his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city." Now it seems to me that the seventh day Sabbath is more clearly included in these commandments, than thou shalt not steal, nor kill, nor commit adultery, for it is the only one that was written at the creation or in the _beginning_. He allows no stopping place this side of the gates of the city. Then, if we do not keep that day, John has made out his case, that we are all _liars_. We say in every other case the type must be continued until it is superseded by the antetype: as in the case of the passover, until our Lord was crucified. So then, as Paul tells us, "there remaineth a keeping of the Sabbath to the people of God;" and that we believe will be in the Millenium, the seven thousandth year, so that the seventh [29]day Sabbath and no other will answer for the type, and those who keep the first or the eighth day Sabbath cannot consistently look for the antetype of rest or the great Sabbath, short of one thousand years in future. Again: Isaiah says: "To the law and to the testimony if they speak not according to his word it is because there is no light in them." viii: 20. Now if the Gentiles are under no law, as is asserted, pray tell me what right, the Gentiles, have we to appeal to the law and testimony, or to this text. In the xxiv. of Matt. our Saviour says to his disciples in answer to their questions, when shall these things be? and what shall be the sign of thy coming and the end of the world? "When ye therefore shall see the abomination of desolation spoken of by Daniel the prophet, stand in the holy place," &c. 15v. "Pray ye that your flight be not in the winter, neither on the Sabbath day." 20v. The first question is, at what age of the world is this, where our Lord recognizes the Sabbath. 1st. It is agreed on all hands that this time to which he here refers, never transpired until the destruction of Jerusalem in A. D. 70, about 40 years after his crucifixion. 2d. Some others say down to the second Advent! The first mentioned is safe ground and sufficient for our purpose; nor need we stop to inquire why our Lord gave these directions, it is forever settled that he directed the minds of his followers to THE, not _a_ Sabbath. Keep it in remembrance, that he told the Pharisees that he was Lord, not of _a_, but of THE Sabbath, meaning that one which of course had already been established. The 2d question is, did our Lord ever trifle with or mislead his disciples? The response is No! Then it is clear that if he taught them to pray at all, it must be in faith, and he of course would hear them and mediate with the Father to change the day of their flight. I ask what kind of a prayer and with what kind of faith would his disciples have asked to have this day changed, if, as we are told, it was abolished some forty years before, and they had, contrary to the will of God, persisted in keeping up the seventh day Sabbath. Any one who has confidence in God's word, knows that such a prayer never would be answered. What if you do say the Jews always kept that Sabbath, and it was the same seventh day Sabbath that they kept when he was teaching them in their synagogues? I say so too! and that fact will be presented by and by, in its place. This does not touch the point. Jesus was here, giving instruction to his [30]followers, both Jew and Gentile, respecting _the_ Sabbath which they would have to do with. It is immaterial what kind of sophistry is presented to overthrow the point, nothing can touch it short of proving it a mistranslation. Jesus did here recognize the perpetuity of the _seventh day Sabbath_. And John will continue to make all men liars that say they know him, and refuse the light presented and disregard this commandment. If God instituted the Sabbath in Paradise and has not abolished it here, then it must be _perpetual_. If Paul's argument in iii. Rom. that the law is established through faith, is correct, then it is _perpetual_. If James' royal _perfect law_ of liberty, which we are to be doers of, and judged by, means the commandments, then is the Sabbath _perpetual_. If the Apostle John has made out a clear case by citing us back to the _beginning_ of creation, and by walking in and doing these commandments, we shall have right to the tree of life and enter in by the gates into the city; then it must be _perpetual_. If the earthly Sabbath is typical of the heavenly, then must it be _perpetual_. If not one jot or one tittle can ever pass from the law, then must it be _perpetual_. If the Saviour, in answer to the young man who asked him what he should do to inherit _eternal life_, gave a safe direction for Gentiles to follow, viz: "If thou wilt enter into _life_ keep the commandments" (and these included those commandments which his Father had given,) then, without _contradiction_ the Sabbath is _perpetual_, and all the arguments which ever can be presented against the fourth commandment being observed before God wrote it on tables of stone to prove that it is not binding on Gentiles, fall powerless before this one sentence: _If thou wilt enter into life, keep the Commandments._ I say the proof is positive that the Sabbath was a constituent part of the commandments, and Jesus says the Sabbath was made for man. The Jews were only a _fragment of creation_. "The principle is settled in all governments that there are but two ways in which any law can cease to be binding upon the people. It may expire by its own limitations, or it may be repealed by the same authority which enacted it; and in the latter case the repealing act must be as explicit as that by which the obligation was originally imposed." Now we have it in proof that the Sabbath was instituted in Paradise, the _first_ of all laws without any limitation, and no enactment by God to abolish it, unless what we have already referred to can be considered proof. One more passage which I have not alluded to, will show that [31]it was not abolished at the crucifixion, for his disciples kept the Sabbath while he was resting in his tomb. See Luke xxiii: 55, 56. Let us now pass to another part of the subject. The third question: WAS THE SEVENTH DAY SABBATH EVER CHANGED? IF SO WHEN, AND FOR WHAT REASON? Here we come to a question which has more or less engaged the attention of the whole christian world, and the greater portion of those who believe in a crucified Saviour say that this change took place, and is dated from his resurrection. Some say subsequently, while a minority insist upon it that there is no proof for the change. Now to obtain the truth and nothing but the truth on this important subject, I propose to present, or quote from standard authors on both sides of the question, and try the whole by the standard of divine truth. 1st. Buck's Theological Dictionary, to which no doubt thousands of ministers and laymen appeal to sustain their argument for the change, says: "Under the christian dispensation the Sabbath is _altered_ from the _seventh_ to the _first day_ of the week." The arguments for the change are these: 1st. "The _seventh_ day was observed by the Jewish church in memory of the rest of God; so the _first_ day of the week has always been observed by the christian church in memory of _Christ's resurrection_. 2d. Christ made repeated visits to his disciples on that day. 3d. It is called the Lord's day. Rev. i: 10.--4th. On this day the Apostles were assembled, when the Holy Ghost came down upon them to qualify them for the conversion of the world. 5th. On this day we find Paul at Troas when the disciples came together to break bread. 6th. The directions the Apostles gave to Christians plainly alludes to their assembling on that day. 7th. Pliny bears witness of the first day of the week being kept as a festival in honor of the resurrection of Christ." "Numerous have been the days appointed by man for religious services, but these are not binding because of _human_ institution. Not so the Sabbath. It is of _divine_ institution, so it is to be kept holy onto the Lord." Doct. Dodridge, whose ability and piety have seldom or rarely been disputed, comments on some of the above articles thus: (Commentary p. 606.) "Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come." I Cor. xvi: 2. "Show that it was to be put into a [32]common stock. The argument drawn from hence for the religious observance of the first day of the week in these primitive churches of Corinth and Galacia is too _obvious_ to need any further illustration, and yet too important to be passed by in entire silence." Again, p. 904, "I was in the spirit on the Lord's day," &c. Rev. i: 10. "It is so very unnatural and contrary to the use of the word in all other authors to interpret this of the Jewish Sabbath, as Mr. Baxter justly argues at large, that I cannot but conclude with him and the generality of Christian writers on this subject, that this text _strongly_ infers the extraordinary regard paid to the first day of the week in the Apostle's time as a day solemnly consecrated to Christ in the memory of his resurrection from the dead." There is much more, but these are his strong arguments. I shall quote some more from the Commentaries by and by. I wish to place by the side of these arguments one from the British Quarterly Theological Review and Ecclesiastical Recorder, of Jan. 1830, which I extract from 'the _Institution of the Sabbath day_,' by Wm. Logan Fisher, of Philadelphia, a book in which there is much valuable information on this subject, though I disagree with the writer, because his whole labor is to abolish the Sabbath; yet he gives much light on this subject, from which I take the liberty to make some quotations. But to the Quarterly Review of 1830: "It is said that the observance of the seventh day Sabbath is transferred in the Christian Church to the first day of the week. We ask by what authority, and are very much mistaken if an examination of all the texts of the New Testament, in which the first day of the week or Lord's day is mentioned, does not prove that there is no divine or Apostolic precept enjoining its observance, nor any certain evidence from scripture that it was, in fact, so observed in the times of the Apostles. Accordingly we search the scriptures in vain, either for an Apostolic precept, appointing the first day of the week to be observed in the place of the Jewish Sabbath, or for any unequivocal proof that the first christians so observed it--there are only three or, at most four passages of scripture, in which the first day of the week is mentioned. The next passage is Acts xx: 7. 'Upon the first day of the week when the disciples some together to break bread, Paul preached unto them.' All that St. Luke here tells us plainly is, that on a particular occasion the christians of Troas met together on the first day of the week to celebrate the Eucharist and to hear Paul preach. This is the only place in scripture in which the first day of the week is in any way connected with any acts of public worship, and he who would certainly infer from this SOLITARY INSTANCE that the first day of every week was consecrated by the Apostles to religious purposes, must be far gone in the art of drawing universal conclusion from particular premises." On page 178, Mr. Fisher says: [33]"I have examined several different translations of the scriptures, both from the Hebrew and Septuagint, with notes and annotations more extensive than the texts; have traced as far as my leisure would permit, various ecclesiastical histories, some of them voluminous and of ancient date; have paid considerable attention to the writings of the earliest authors in the Christian era, and to rare works, old and of difficult access, which treat upon this subject; I have read with care many of the publications of sectarians to sustain the institution; I have omitted nothing within my reach, and I have found not one shred of argument, or authority of any kind, that may not be deemed of partial and sectarian character, to support the institution of the first day of the week, as a day of peculiar holiness. But, in place of argument, I have found opinions without number--volumes filled with idle words that have no truth in them. In the want of texts of Scripture, I have found perversions; in the want of truth, false statements. I have seen it stated that Justin Marter in his Apology speaks of Sunday as a holy day; that Eusebius, bishop of Cesarea, who lived in the fourth century, establishes the fact of the transfer of the SEVENTH to the first day, by Christ himself. These things are NOT TRUE. These authors say no such thing. I have seen other early authors referred to as establishing the same point, but they are equally false." Here then is the testimony of four authors, two for the change and two against it, from the old and new world. No truth seeking, unbiassed mind can hesitate for a moment on which side to decide, after comparing them with the inspired word. Doctor JENKS of Boston, author of the Comprehensive Commentary, (purporting to comprehend _all_ other commentators on the bible,) after quoting author after author on this subject, ventures forth with _his_ unsupported opinion in these words: "Here is a Christian Sabbath observed by the disciples and _owned by our Lord_. The visit Christ made to his disciples was on the first day of the week, and the first day of the week is the only day of the week or month or year ever mentioned by numbers in all the New Testament, and that is several times spoken of as a day _religiously_ observed." Where? Echo answers, where! HEMAN HUMPHREY, President of Amherst College, from whose book I have already made some quotations, after devoting some thirty-four pages to the establishment and perpetuation of the seventh day Sabbath, comes to his fourth question, viz: "Has the day been changed?" Singular as this question may appear by the side of what he had already written to establish and perpetuate the seventh day Sabbath from the seventh day of creation down to the resurrection of the just, but as every man feels that it is his privilege to justify and explain, when precept and practice do not agree--so is it with President Humphrey, he can [34]now shape the scriptures to suit every one that has followed in the wake of Pope Gregory for 1225 years. He says, "The fourth commandment is so expressed as to admit of a change in the day,"--thus striking vitally every argument he had before presented. Hear him--he says the seventh day is the Sabbath; "it was so at that time (in the beginning) and for many ages after, but it is not said that it always _shall be_--it is the _Sabbath_ day which we are to remember; and so at the close, it was the _Sabbath_ which was hallowed and blessed and not the _seventh day_. The Sabbath then, the holy rest itself, is one thing. The day on which we are to rest is another." I ask, in the name of common sense, how we should know how or when to keep the Sabbath, if it did not matter which day. If the President could not see the sanctification of the seventh day in the decalogue, what did he mean by quoting Gen. ii: 3, so often, where it says "_God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it_." Again, he says, "Redemption is a greater work than creation, hence the change." Fifthly, God early consecrated the Christian Sabbath by a most remarkable outpouring of his spirit at the day of Pentecost. And that Jesus has left us his own example by not saying a syllable after his resurrection about keeping the _Jewish Sabbath_. He also quotes the four passages about Jesus and his disciples keeping the first day of the week. Here, he says, the inference to our mind is _irresistible_--for keeping the first day of the week instead of the _seventh_. And further says, it might be proved by innumerable quotations from the writings of the Apostolic Fathers, &c. All this may be very true in itself, but it all falls to the ground for the want of one single precept from the bible. If Redemption, because it was greater than Creation, and the remarkable display of God's power at the Pentecost, and Christ never saying any thing about the _Jewish Sabbath_ after his resurrection are such _strong_ proofs that the perpetual seventh day Sabbath was changed to the first day at that time, and must be believed because learned men say so, what shall we do with the sixth day, on which our blessed Saviour expired on the cross; darkness for three hours had covered the earth, and the vail of the Temple was rent from top to bottom, and there was such an earthquake throughout vast creation that we have only to open our eyes and look at the rent rocks for a clear and perfect demonstration that this whole globe was shaken from centre to circumference, [35]and the graves of the dead were opened. Matt xxvii: 50, 53. You may answer me that Popery has honored that day by calling it good Friday, and the next first day following Easter Sunday, &c., but after all nothing short of bible argument will satisfy the earnest inquirer after truth.--The President had already shown that the _Jewish_ Sabbath was abolished at Christ's death. What reason, then had he to believe that the Saviour would speak of it afterwards.--So also the Pentecost had been a type from the giving the law at Sinai to be kept annually for about 1500 years, consequently it would be solemnized on every day of the week at each revolving year, as is the case with the 4th of July: three years ago it was on the fourth day and now it comes on the seventh day of the week. Further, see Peter standing amidst the amazed multitude, giving the scripture reason for this miraculous display of God's power. He does not give the most distant hint that this was, or was to be, the day of the week for worship, or the true Sabbath, neither do any of the Apostles, then, or afterwards, for when they kept this day the next year, it must have been the second day of the week. We must have better evidence than what has been adduced, to believe this was the Sabbath, for according to the type, seven Sabbaths were to be complete, (and there was no other way given them to come to the right day,) from the day they kept the first or from the resurrection. Here then is proof positive that the Sabbath in this year was the day before the Pentecost. See Luke xxiii: 55, 56. If President H. is right, then was there two Sabbaths to be kept in succession in one week. Where is the precept? No where! Well, says the inquirer, I want to see the bible proof for this "_Christian Sabbath observed by the disciples, and owned by our Lord_." W. Jenks. Here it will be necessary for us to understand, first how God has computed time. In Gen. i. we read, "And God said let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven, to divide the day from the night, and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years." 14 v. 16 v. says "the greater light to rule the day,"--from sunrise to sunset. Now there are many modes invented for computing time. We say our day begins at 12 o'clock at night; seamen begin theirs twelve hours sooner, at noon; the Jews commence their days at 6 o'clock in the evening, between the two extremes. Are we _all_ right? No! Who shall settle this question? God! Very well: He called the light day and the darkness he called night, and the evening and the [36]morning were the first day. Gen. i: 5. Then the twenty-four hour day commenced at 6 o'clock in the evening. How is that, says one? Because you cannot regulate the day and night to have what the Saviour calls twelve hours in a day, without establishing the time from the centre of the earth, the equator, where, at the beginning of the sacred year, the sun rises and sets at 6 o'clock. At _this_ time, while the sun is at the summer solstice, the inhabitants at the north pole have no night, while at this same time at the south it is about all night, therefore the inhabitants of the earth have no other right time to commence their twenty-four hour day, than beginning at 6 o'clock in the evening. God said to Moses "_from even to even, shall you celebrate your Sabbath_." Then of course the next day must begin where the Sabbath ended. History shows that the Jews obeyed and commenced their days at 6 o'clock in the evening. Now then we will try to investigate the main argument by which these authors, and thousands of others say the Sabbath was changed. The first is in John xx: 19, "Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled _for fear of the Jews_ (mark it) came Jesus and stood in their midst, and said peace be unto you." Here we understand this to be the same day of the resurrection. On that day he travelled with the two disciples to Emans, sixty furlongs (7-1/2 miles,) and they constrained him to abide with them, for it was towards evening and the _day was far spent_. Luke xxiv: 29. After this the disciples travelled 7-1/2 miles back to Jerusalem, and soon after they found the disciples, the Saviour, as above stated, was in their midst. Now it cannot be disputed but what this was the evening after the resurrection, for Jesus rose in the morning, some ten or eleven hours after the first day had commenced. Then the evening of the first day was passing away, and therefore the evening brought to view in the text was the close of the first day or the commencing of the second. McKnight's translation says, "in the evening of that day." Purver's translation says, "the evening of that day on the first after the Sabbath." Further, wherever the phrase first day of the week, occurs in the New Testament, the word day is in _italics_, showing that it is not the original, but supplied by translators. Again, it is asserted that Jesus met with his disciples the next first day. See 26 v: "And _after_ eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them, then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said peace be unto you." [37]Dr. Adam Clark in referring to this 26v, says: "It seems likely that this was precisely on that day se'night on which Christ had appeared to them before; and from this we may learn that this was the weekly meeting of the Apostles." Now it appears to me that a little child, with the simple rules of addition and subtraction, could have refuted this man. I feel astonished that men who profess to be ambassadors for God do not expose such downright perversions of scripture, but it may look clear to those who want to have it so. Not many months since, in conversation with the Second Advent lecturer in New Bedford, I brought up this subject. He told me I did not understand it. See here, says he, I can make it plain, counting his fingers thus: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday--does'nt that make eight days after? and because I would not concede, he parted from me as one that was obstinate and self-willed. Afterwards musing on the subject, I said, this must be the way then to understand it: _Count Sunday Twice_. If any of them were to be paid for eight days labor, they would detect the error in a moment if their employer should attempt to put the first and last days together, and offer them pay but for seven. Eight days _after_ the evening of the _first_ day would stand thus: The second day of the week would certainly be the first of the eight. Then to count eight days of twenty-four hours _after_, we must begin at the close of the evening of the first, and count to the close of the evening of the second day; to where the Jews (by God's command) commenced their third day. But suppose we calculate it by our mode of keeping time. Our Lord appears to his disciples the first time at the close of Sunday evening. Now count eight days _after_, (with your fingers or anything else,) and it will bring you to Monday evening. Now I ask if this looks like Sunday, the first day of the week? Father Miller also gives his reasons for the change, in his lecture on the great Sabbath: "One is Christ's resurrection and his often meeting with his disciples _afterwards_ on that day. This, with the example of the Apostles, is strong evidence that the proper creation Sabbath to man, came on the first day of the week." His proof is this: "Adam must have rested on the first day of his life, and thus you will see that to Adam it was the first day of the week, for it would not be reasonable to suppose that Adam began to reckon time before he was created." He certainly could not be able to work six days before the first Sabbath. And thus [38]with the second Adam; the first day of the week he arose and lived. And we find by the _bible_ and by history, that the first day of the week "_was ever afterwards observed as a day of worship_." Now I say there is no more truth in these assertions, than there is in those I have already quoted. There is not one passage in the bible to show that Christ met with his disciples on the first day of the week after the day of his resurrection, nor that the first day of the week was _ever afterwards_ observed as a day of worship; save only in one instance, and that shall be noticed in its place. And it seems to me if Adam could not reckon time only from his creation then by the same rule no other man could reckon time before his birth, and by this showing Christ could not reckon his time until after his resurrection. It is painful to me to expose the errors of one whom I have so long venerated, and still love for the flood of light he has given the world in respect to the Second Advent of our Saviour; but God's word must be vindicated if we have to cut off a right arm, "there is nothing true but truth!" I pray God to forgive him in joining the great multitude of Advent believers, to sound the retreat back beyond the _tarrying_ time, just when the virgins had gained a glorious victory over the world, the flesh, and the devil! Go back from this to the slumbering quarters now; nothing but treachery to our Master's cause ever dictated such a course! I never can be made to believe that our glorious Commander designed that we should leave our sacrifices smoking on the altar of God, in the midst of the enemies' land, but rather that we should be pushing onward from victory to victory, until we are established in the Capital of _His_ kingdom. Would it have been expedient or a mark of courage in General Taylor, after he had conquered the Mexican army on the 9th May last, to have retreated back to the capital of the U. States, to place himself and army on the _broad platform_ of liberty, and commence to travel the ground over again for the purposes of pursuing and overcoming his vanquished foe? No! Every person of common sense knows that such a course would have overwhelmed him and all his followers with unutterable disgrace, no matter how unrighteous the contest. Not so with this, for our cause is one of the most glorious, tho it be the most trying that the sun ever shown upon since God placed it in the heavens. Onward and victory, then, are our watchwords, and no retreating back to, or beyond the cry at _Midnight_! But to the subject. Did our Saviour ever meet with his disciples on the first day of the week after the [39]evening of the day of his resurrection? The xxi. ch. John says "they went a fishing, and while there Jesus appeared unto them." In the 14th v. he says, "This is now the third time that Jesus showed himself to the disciples after that he was risen from the dead." Now turn to 1 Cor. xv: 4-7: Paul's testimony is, "that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve, after that of above five hundred brethren at once, and then of James, then of all the Apostles." These are all that are specified, up to his going into heaven. Now pray tell me if you can, where these men got their information respecting the frequent meetings on the first day of the week. The bible says no such thing. But let us pursue the subject and look at the third text, "Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in _store_, as God has prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come." Now please turn back to Dr. Dodridge's authority, he says the argument is too obvious to need illustration, that the money was put into common stock, and that this was the religious observance of the first day of the week. Now whoever will read the first six verses of this chapter, and compare them with Rom. xv: 26-33, will see that Paul's design was to collect some money for the poor saints at Jerusalem, and their laying it by them in store until he came that way; for it plainly implies that they were at home, for no one could understand that you had money lying by you in store, if it was in common stock or in other hands. Again, see Acts xviii: 4, 11. Paul preaching every Sabbath day, at this very time, for eighteen months, to these very same Corinthians, bids them farewell, to go up to the feast at Jerusalem. 21 v. By reading to xxi. ch. 17 v. you have his history until he arrives there. Now I ask, if Dr. Dodridge's clear illustration can or will be relied on, when Luke clearly teaches that Paul's _manner_ was, and that he did always preach to them on the Sabbath, which, of course, was the Seventh day, and not the first day of the week. Fourth text, John says: I was in the spirit on the Lord's day. Here Dr. D. concludes with the generality of christian writers on this subject that this strongly infers the extraordinary regard paid to the first day of the week, as solemnly consecrated in Christ, &c. If the scripture any where called this the Lord's day, there might be some reason to believe their statements, but the seventh day Sabbath is called the Lord's day. See Exod. xx: 10. Mr. Fisher, in speaking of the late Harrisburg convention of 1844-45, says, "The most spirited debate that occurred [40]at the assembly was to fix a proper name for the first day of the week, whether it should be called _Sabbath_, the _Christian Sabbath_ or _Lord's_ day. The reason for this dispute was, that there was no authority for calling the first day of the week by either one of these names. To pretend that that command was fixed and unchangeable, and yet to alter it to please the fancy of man, is in itself ridiculous. It is hardly possible in the nature of man, that a class of society should be receiving pay for their services and not be influenced thereby;--in the nature of things they will avoid such doctrines as are repugnant to them that give them bread." Now we come to the fifth and last, and only one spoken of in all the New Testament, for a meeting on the first day of the week. Luke says, "Upon the first day of the week when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, _ready to depart on the morrow_: and continued his speech until midnight." Acts xx: 7. Now by following the scripture mode of computing time, from 6 o'clock in the evening to 6 o'clock in the morning, as has been shown, Paul to commence on the beginning of the first day would begin on what we call Saturday evening at 6 o'clock, and preach till midnight. After that he restores to life the young man, then breaks bread and talked till the break of day, which would be Sunday morning. Then he commenced his journey for Jerusalem and travelled and sailed all day Sunday, the first day of the week, and two other days in succession. xx: 11-15. Now it seems to me, if Paul did teach or keep the first day of the week for the Sabbath or a holy day he violated the sanctity of it to all intents and purposes, without giving one single reason for it; all the proof presented here is a night meeting. Please see the quotation from the British Quarterly Review. But let us look at it the way in which _we_ compute time: I think it will be fair to premise, that about midnight was the middle of Paul's meeting; at any rate there is but one midnight to a twenty-four hour day. _We_ say that Sunday, the first day of the week, does not commence until 12 o'clock Saturday night. Then it is very clear, if he is preaching on the first day till midnight, according to our reckoning it must be on Sunday night, and his celebrating the Lord's supper after midnight would make it that he broke bread on _Monday, the second day_, and that the day time on Sunday is not included, unless he had continued his speech through the day till midnight. Now the text says that on the first day of the week they came together to break bread. To _prove that [41]they did break bread on that day_, we must take the mode in which the Jews computed time, and allow the first day of the week to begin at 6 o'clock on Saturday evening, and to follow Paul's example, pay no regard to the first day, after daylight, but to travel, &c. If _our_ mode of time is taken, they broke bread on the second day, and that would destroy the meaning of the text. Here then, in this text, is the _only_ argument that can be adduced in the scriptures of divine truth, for a _change of the perpetual seventh day_ Sabbath of the Lord our God to the first day of the week. Now I'll venture the assertion, that there is no law or commandment recorded in the bible, that God has held so sacred among men, as the keeping of his Sabbath. Where then, I ask, is the living man that dare stand before God and declare that here is the change for the church of God to keep the first instead of the seventh day of the week for the Sabbath. If it could be proved that Paul preached here all of the first day, the only inference that could be drawn, would be, to break bread on that day! There is one more point worthy of our attention, that is, the teaching and example of Jesus. I have been told by one that is looked up to as a strong believer in the second coming of the Lord this fall, that Jesus broke the Sabbath. Jesus says, I have kept my Father's commandments. It is said that he "broke the Sabbath," because he allowed his disciples to pluck the corn and eat it on that day, and the Pharisees condemned them. He says, "If ye had known what this meaneth, I will have mercy and not sacrifice, ye would not have condemned the _guiltless_." Then they were not _guilty_. See Deut. xxiii: 25. He immediately cites them to David and his men, shewing that it was lawful and right when hungry, even to eat the shoe bread that belonged only to the priests, and told them that he was Lord of the Sabbath day. Here he shows too, that he was with his disciples passing to the synagogue to teach; they ask him if it is lawful to teach on the Sabbath day. He asks them if they had a sheep fall into the ditch on the Sabbath, if they would not haul him out? How much better then is a man than a sheep? Wherefore it is lawful to do well on the Sabbath days; and immediately healed the man with the withered hand. Matt. xii: 1-13. On another Sabbath day, while he was teaching, he healed a woman that had been bound of satan eighteen years; and when the ruler of the synagogue began to find fault, he called him a hypocrite, and said "doth not each one of you on the Sabbath [42]day loose his ox or his ass from the stall and lead him away to watering; and all his adversaries were _ashamed_." Luke xiii: 10-17. The xiv. chapter of Luke is quoted to prove that he broke the Sabbath because he went into the Pharisee's house with many others on the Sabbath day to eat bread. Here he saw a man with the dropsy and he asked them if it was lawful to heal on the Sabbath day. 'And they held their peace, and he took him and healed him,' and asked them 'which of them having an ox or an ass fall into the pit, would not straightway pull him out on the Sabbath day; and they could not answer him again.' 1-6 v. And 'he continued to teach them, by showing them when they made a feast to call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind, and then they should be blessed.' Read the chapter, and you will readily see that he took this occasion, as the most befitting, to teach them by parables, what their duty was at weddings and feasts, in the same manner as he taught them in their synagogues. There is still another passage, and I believe the only one, to which reference has been made, (except where he opened the eyes of a man that was born blind,) for proof that he broke the Sabbath. It is recorded in John v: 5-17. Here Jesus found a man that had been sick thirty-eight years, by the pool of Bethesda, 'he saith unto him rise, take up thy bed and walk,--therefore did they persecute Jesus and sought to slay him because he had done these things on the Sabbath day.' 16v. 'But Jesus answered them, my Father worketh hitherto and I work.' If they did not work every hour and moment of time, it would be impossible for man to exist: Here undoubtedly he had reference to these and other acts of necessity and mercy; but the great sin for which professors in this enlightened age charge the Saviour with in this transaction, is, in directing the man to take up his bed, contrary to law. It is clear the people were forbidden to carry burthens on the Sabbath day, as in Jer. xvii: 21, 22, but by reading the 24th v. in connection with Neh. xiii: 15-22, we learn that this prohibition related to what was lawful for them to do on the other six days of the week, viz. merchandise and trading. See proof, Neh. x: 31; also unlawful, as in Amos viii: 5. We need not nor we cannot misunderstand the fourth commandment taken in connection with the other nine; they were simple and pure written by the finger of God; but in the days of our Saviour it had become heavily laden with Jewish traditions, hence when Jesus appeals to them whether it is [43]lawful to do good and to heal on the Sabbath days, their mouths are closed because they cannot contradict him from the law nor the prophets. The Saviour no where interferes with them in their most rigid observance of the day; but when they find fault with him for performing his miracles of mercy on that day, he tells them they have broken the law; and in another place, "If a man on the Sabbath day receive circumcision without breaking the law of Moses, are ye angry at me because I have made a man every whit whole on the Sabbath day?" He then says, "Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment." vii: 23, 24. Did he break the Sabbath? Now the law requires that the beasts shall rest; but what is the practice of many of those who are the most strict in keeping Sunday for the Sabbath. Sick, or well, ministers or laymen, do they not ride back and forth to meeting? Again, is it right and lawful to carry forth our dead on the Sabbath? or carry the communion service back and forth. The Apostle says, 'believe and be baptized.' Suppose this should be on the Sabbath and we were some distance from the water, would any one interfere with us if we carried our change of apparel with us and back again, or have we in so doing transgressed the law; if we have, it is high time we made a full stop. Jesus undoubtedly had good reasons for directing the sick man to take up his bed and walk, but I cannot learn that he justified any one else in carrying their bed on the Sabbath, unless in a case of necessity and mercy, such as he cited them to, as watering their cattle, and pulling them out of the ditch, and eating when hungry, and being healed when sick. Be it also remembered that when the Sanhedrim tried him they did not condemn him, as in the other cases cited; so in this, they failed for want of scripture testimony. He was the Lord of the Sabbath, and the law of ceremonies were now about to cease forever, the ten commandments with the keeping of the Sabbath therefore were to be stripped of these ceremonies and all of their traditions, and left as pure to be written on the hearts of the Gentiles as when first written on tables of stone, therefore Jesus taught that it was right to do good on the Sabbath day, and whoever follows his example and teaching will keep the seventh day Sabbath holy and acceptable to God. They will also judge righteous judgment, and not according to appearance. There is but one Christian Sabbath named, or established in the bible, and that individual, whoever he is, that [44]undertakes to abolish or change it, is the _real Sabbath breaker_. Remember that the keeping the commandments is the only safe guide through the gates into the city. My friends and neighbors, and especially my family, know that I have for more than twenty years, strictly endeavored to keep the first day of the week for the Sabbath, and I can say that I did it in all good conscience before God, on the ocean, and in foreign countries as well as my own, until about sixteen months since I read an article published in the Hope of Israel, by a worthy brother, T. M. Preble, of Nashua, which when I read and compared with the bible, convinced me that there never had been any change. Therefore the seventh day was the Sabbath, and God required me as well as him to keep it holy. Many things now troubled my mind as to how I could make this great change, family, friends, and brethren; but this one passage of scripture was, and always will be as clear as a sunbeam. "_What is that to thee: follow thou me._" In a few days my mind was made up to begin to keep the fourth commandment, and I bless God for the clear light he has shed upon my mind in answer to prayer and a thorough examination of the scriptures on this great subject. Contrary views did, after a little, shake my position some, but I feel now that there is no argument nor sophistry that can becloud my mind again this side of the gates of the Holy City. Brother Marsh, who no doubt thinks, and perhaps thousands besides, that his paper is what it purports to be, THE VOICE OF TRUTH, takes the ground with the infidel that there is no Sabbath. Brother S. S. Snow, of New York, late editor of the Jubilee Standard, publishes to the world that he is the Elijah, preceding the advent of our Saviour, restoring all things: (the seventh day Sabbath must be one of the all things,) and yet he takes the same ground with Br. Marsh, that the Sabbath is forever abolished. As the seventh day Sabbath is a real prophecy, a picture (and not a shadow like the Jewish Sabbaths,) of the thing typified which is to come, I cannot see how those who believe in the change or abolition of the type, can have any confidence to look to God for the great antetype, the Sabbath of rest, to come to them. Brother J. B. Cook has written a short piece in his excellent paper, the ADVENT TESTIMONY. It was pointed and good, but too short; and as brother Preble's Tract now before me, did not embrace the arguments which have been presented since he published it, it appeared [45]to me that something was called for in this time of falling back from this great subject. I therefore present this book, hoping at least, that it will help to strengthen and save all honest souls seeking after truth. A WORD RESPECTING THE HISTORY. At the close of the first century a controversy arose, whether both days should be kept or only one, which continued until the reign of Constantine the Great. By his laws, made in A. D. 321, it was decreed for the future that Sunday should be kept a day of rest in all the cities and towns; but he allowed the country people to follow husbandry. History further informs us that Constantine murdered his two sisters husbands and son, and his own familiar friend, that same year, and the year before boiled his wife in a cauldron of oil.--The controversy still continued down to A. D. 603, when Pope Gregory passed a law abolishing the seventh day Sabbath, and establishing the first day of the week. See Baronius Councils, 603. Barnfield's Eng. page 116, states that the Parliament of England met on Sundays till the time of Richard II. The first law of England made for keeping of Sunday, was in the time of Edward IV. about 1470. As these two books are not within my reach, I have extracted from T. M. Preble's tract on the Sabbath. Mr. Fisher says, it was Dr. Bound one of the rigid puritans, who applied the name _Sabbath_ to the first day of the week, about the year 1795. "The word Sunday is not found in the bible," it derived its name from the heathen nations of the North, because the day was dedicated to the sun. Neither is the Sabbath applied to the first day any more than it is to the sixth day of the week. While Daniel beheld the little horn, (popery) he said, among other things, he would _think_ to change times and laws. Now this could not mean of men, because it has ever been the prerogative of absolute rulers like himself, to change manmade laws, nor the law of Moses, for that had been abolished 570 years before the Pope finally changed the Sabbath to the 1st day of the week. Then to make the prophecy harmonize with the scripture, he must have meant times and laws established by God, because he might think and pass decrees as he has done, but he, nor all the universe could ever change God's times and laws. Jesus says that "times and seasons were in the power of the father." The Sabbath is the most important law which God ever instituted. "How long refuse ye to keep my commandments, and my laws, see for that the Lord hath given you [46]the Sabbath." Exod. xvi: 28, 29. Then it's clear from the history, that this is in part what Daniel meant. Now the second advent believers have professed all confidence in his visions; why then doubt this. Whoever feels disposed to defend and sustain the decrees of that "blasphemous" dower, and especially Pope Gregory and the great Constantine, the murderer, shown to be the _moral_ reformer in this work of changing the Sabbath, are welcome to their principles and feelings. I detest these acts, in common with all others which have emanated from these ten and one horned powers. The Revelations show us clearly that they were originated by the devil. If you say this history is not true then you are bound to refute it. If you cannot, you are as much in duty bound to believe it as any other history, even, that George Washington died in 1799! If the bible argument, and testimony from history are to be relied on as evidence, then it is as clear as a sunbeam that the seventh day Sabbath is a perpetual sign, and is as binding upon man as it ever was. But we are told we must keep the first day of the week for the Sabbath as an ordinance to commemorate the resurrection of Jesus. I for one had rather believe Paul. See Rom. vi: 3-5; Gal. iii: 27; Col. ii: 12. A word more respecting time. See 31st page. Here I have shown that the sun in the centre, regulates all time for the earth--fifty-two weeks to the year, one hundred and sixty-eight hours to the week, the seventh of which is twenty-four hours. Jesus says there are but twelve hours in the day, (from sunrise to sunset.) Then twelve hours night to make a twenty-four hour day, you see, must always begin at a certain period of time. No matter, then whether the sun sets with us at eight in summer or 4 o'clk in winter. Now by this, and this is the scripture rule, days and weeks can, and most probably are, kept at the North and South polar regions. What an absurdity to believe that God does exonerate our fathers and brothers from keeping his Sabbath while they are in these polar regions, fishing for seals and whales, should it be with them either all day or all night. If they have lost their reckoning of days and weeks, because there was, or was not any sun six months of the time, how could they learn what day of the week it was when they see the sun setting at 6 o'clock on the equator, if bound home from the South? By referring to Luke, xxiii ch. 55, 56, and xxiv: 1, we see that the people in Palestine had kept the days and weeks right from [47]the creation; since which time, astronomers teach us that not even fifteen minutes have been lost. God does not require us to be any more exact in keeping time, than what we may or have learned from the above rules, but I am told there is a difference in time of twenty-four hours to the mariner that circumnavigates the globe. That, being true, is known to them, but it alters no time on the earth or sea. But, says one, I should like to keep the Sabbath in _time_, just as Jesus did. Then you must live in Palestine, where their day begins seven hours earlier than ours; and yet it is at 6 o'clock in the evening the same period, though not the same by the sun, in which we begin our day. Let me illustrate: our earth, something in the form of an orange, is whirling over every twenty-four hours. It measures three hundred and sixty degrees, or about twenty-one thousand six hundred miles round, in the manner you would pass a string round an orange. Now divide this three hundred and sixty degrees by the twenty-four hour day, and the result is fifteen degrees, or nine hundred miles. Then every fifteen degrees we travel or sail eastward, the sun rises and sets one hour earlier in the period of the twenty-four hours: therefore those who live in Palestine, one hundred and seven degrees east of us, begins and closes the day seven hours earlier, so in proportion all the way round the globe, the sun always stationary! Then the Sabbath begins precisely at 6 o'clock on Friday evening, every where on this globe, and ends at the same period on what we call Saturday evening. God says 'every thing on its day,' 'from even unto even shall ye celebrate your Sabbath;' 'the evening and the morning was the first day.' He is an exact time keeper! I say then, in the name of all that is holy, heavenly and true, and as immortality is above all price, let us see to it that we are found fearing God and keeping his COMMANDMENTS, for this, we are taught, 'is the whole duty of man.' The proof is positive that the seventh day Sabbath is included in the commandments. Bro. Marsh says, "Keeping the Sabbath is embraced in this covenant, Deut. v: 1-6, made with the children of Israel at Horeb. It was not made with their Fathers (the Patriarchs) but with us, even us, who are all of US HERE ALIVE THIS DAY. v. 3. This testimony first _negative_, he made it not with our Fathers, and then _positive_ with _us_, is conclusive. Not a single proof can be presented from either the old or new testament that it was instituted for any other people or nation." Now it is clear and positive [48]that if the Sabbath is not binding on any other people than the Jews, by the same rule not one of the commandments is binding on any other people, who dare take such infidel ground? Was not the second covenant written on the hearts of the Gentile, even the law of Commandments? which Paul says 'is Holy, just and good.' Thirty years after the crucifixion he directs the Ephesians to the keeping the fifth commandment, that they may live long on the _earth_ not the land of Canaan. vi: 2, 3. Did not God say that Abraham kept his commandments, statutes, and laws? This embraced the Sabbath for circumcision, and the Sabbath were then the only laws, or statutes, or commandments written. The fourth commandment was given two thousand years before Abraham was born! Is not the stranger and all within their gates included in the covenant to keep the Sabbath? See Exod. xx: 10. And did not God require them to keep THE Sabbath before he made this covenant with them in Horeb? See Exod. xvi: 27-30. Does not Isaiah say that God will bless the _man_, and the _son_ of _man_, and the _sons_ of the _stranger_, that keep THE Sabbath? These certainly mean the Gentiles. lvi: 2-3, 6-7. Also, in the lviii. ch. 13, 14, the promise is to all that keep the Sabbath. To what people _did_ the Sabbath belong at the destruction of Jerusalem, nearly forty years after the crucifixion? Matt. xxiv: 20. The Gentiles certainly were embraced in the covenant by this time! Why was it Paul's manner always to preach on the seventh day Sabbath to Jews and Gentiles? By what authority do you call the seventh day Sabbath, the Jewish Sabbath? The bible says it is the Sabbath of the _Lord our God_! And Jesus said that he was the 'Lord of the Sabbath day.' He moreover told the Jews that the Sabbath was made for MAN! Where do you draw the distinguishing line, to show which is and which is not MAN between the _natural seed of Abraham_ and the Gentiles? "Is he the God of the Jews only? Is he not also of the Gentiles? Yes, of the Gentiles also!" Then Paul says 'there is no difference,' and that 'there is no respect of persons with God.' Is it not clear, then, that the Sabbath was made for Adam and his posterity, the whole family of _man_? How very fearful you are that God's people should keep the bible Sabbath! You say, 'let us be cautious, lest we disinherit ourselves by seeking the inheritance under the wrong covenant.' Your meaning is, not to seek to keep the Sabbath covenant, but the one made to Abraham. [49]If you can tell us what precept there is in the Abrahamic covenant that we must now keep to be saved, that is not embraced in the one given at Mount Sinai, then we will endeavor to keep that too, with the Sabbath of the Lord our God. If the Sabbath, as you say, is abolished, why do you, JOSEPH MARSH, continue to call the first day of the week the Sabbath. See V. T., 15th July. If you profess to utter the VOICE OF TRUTH from the bible, do be consistent, and also willing that _other papers_, besides yours and the Advent Herald, should give the present truth to the flock of God. I say let it go with lightning speed, every way, as does the political news by the electric telegraph. If the whole law and the prophets hang on the commandments, and by keeping them we enter into life, how will you, or I, enter in if we do not 'keep the commandments.' See Exod. xvi: 28-30. Jesus says, "therefore whosoever shall break one of these least commandments and shall teach men so, shall be called the least in the kingdom," &c. "Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man." Amen! GOD HAS MADE THREE EVERLASTING COVENANTS WITH MAN. The first one is the Covenant of Inheritance "confirmed unto Jacob for a law and unto Israel for an _everlasting_ Inheritance." See Psl. cv: 8-11. Acts vii: 3-6. Eph. i: 14. Second is an "_everlasting Covenant of Redemption_." See Isa. lxi: 8, 9. "I have made a Covenant with my chosen, I have sworn unto David my servant, thy seed will I establish forever." Psl. lxxxix: 2-5. See also 34-37 vs. "My Covenant will I not _break_, nor alter the thing that is gone out of my lips. Once have I sworn by my holiness that I will not lie unto David, his seed shall endure forever, and his throne as the sun before me--It shall be established forever as the moon and as a faithful witness in heaven." Isa. says it is sure, lv: 3; liv: 13, 14. Ezekiel calls it a Covenant of peace. xxxiv: 25. In xxxvii ch. 25 and 26 v. he shows clearly that David is Christ, and this "Covenant of peace is an everlasting Covenant with his Israel, and will be _known_ when his sanctuary is in the midst of them forever more." 28 v. The very same is brought to view by Paul. Rom. xi: 26, 27. _These two everlasting Covenants_ are conditional, and in the future. The living saints of God inherit them by keeping [50]the 'commandments of God and testimony of Jesus', which can be nothing more nor less than what Jer. and Paul calls the 'new or second covenant.' Jer. xxxi: 31-33; Heb. viii: 6-10; by us the Gospel Covenant, confirmed by Christ and his Apostles 1800 years ago. Dan. ix: 27; Acts x: 36-40; Heb. ii: 3, 4. The old or first Covenant was delivered to Moses at Mount Sinai 3337 years ago, and is about 1537 years older than the _new_, or _second_, or what we call the Gospel Covenant. Paul to the Heb. ix: 1, says, 'This first Covenant had ordinances of divine service, and a worldly sanctuary,' meaning the Old Tabernacle with all its appendages, (see 23 v.,) and was dedicated with the blood of bulls and goats. 18, 19 v. (Macknight's trans.). See also Exo. xxiv: 8; Lev. xvi: 15. This same Covenant was the ten commandments 'written on tables of stone by the finger of God.' Exo. xxxiv: 27, 28; Deut. ix: 9-11. Paul calls it the Ark of the Covenant. Heb. ix: 4. Moses built a Tabernacle for it. Exo. xl: 3, 21. David had it in his heart to build a house for it. 1 Chr. xxviii: 2. Solomon built _the_ house (the Temple) and put the Ark into it. 2 Ch. vi: 11. These ten commandments then, was the first _Covenant_. The Tabernacle and all its furniture was appended to it, and was called the Sanctuary, the building that contained it. This Covenant was broken by the Jews, with whom it was first made. Deut. xxxi: 15, 20; Jer. xxxi: 32; Ezek. xvi: 5, 9; and xvii: 19; Isa. xxxiii: 8. Now how evident it is that the Jewish nation did not destroy nor abolish this Covenant by breaking it. As well may it be said that the man who violates the law of his country has abolished or destroyed the whole law. No, no! men can no more destroy the law God has made than they can put out the light of the sun. They can destroy themselves, but God's work can they never. Hear God speak and may his word annihilate every thought to the contrary: "The Lord thy God he is the faithful God, which keepeth _Covenant_ and mercy with them that love him and _keep his commandments_ to a thousand _generations_." Is not this as much as 63,000 years in the future? Will he break it, then think ye? No, you know it means forever! Deut. vii: 9. Do you still doubt. Let him speak once more. "_My Covenant will I not BREAK nor ALTER_ [look at this, you that say God has _altered_ this Covenant so as to change this Sabbath from the 7th to the 1st day of the week.] _the thing that has gone out of my mouth._" Psl. lxxxix: 34. Then it is immutable! unchangeable! immortal! as well may man undertake to annihilate the sun. [51]Jesus then, as I have shown, came to establish the new _Covenant_, and as I have before stated, he stripped off all these appendages, the _law of ceremonies_, the _hand writing_ of _ordinances_, the _carnal commandments_ (Paul,) from the first _Covenant_, the ten commandments, leaving them pure as when they first came from his Father's hand, and nailed as Paul shows to the Col. all these ceremonies to his cross, at the same hour he sealed the new _Covenant_ with his blood, called the _everlasting Covenant_. Heb. xiii: 20. Paul in the viii. ch. on this Covenant, extracts from Jer. xxxi: 31-34, which shows us clearly what he means (see 8-12v,) and says in the 7 v., if the first one had been faultless then no place could be found for the second. 6 v. says this covenant is established on better promises because Jesus is the mediator of it. xii: 24. In x: 15, 16, he quotes from the viii. ch. to show that the Holy Ghost is also a witness. See how, in ii. Rom. 13-16, "when the Gentiles which have not the _law_, (that is the ten commandments on tables of stone) DO the things contained in the _law_ (the ten commandments) they show the work of the _law_ (the ten commandments) written on their hearts, their thoughts in the mean while accusing, or else excusing, (when, Paul?) in the day when God shall judge the secrets of men by my gospel." Then it must be now. Oh no, says the reader, Paul means at the day of judgment.--I am glad you admit that condemnation overtakes the transgressors of the law written on our hearts somewhere. For proof that he means the commandments read 21, 22 v.; you will of course understand that it is not the law of ceremonies, for these had been abolished more than 25 years before. See chronology A. D. 60. Now see Heb. viii: 10 again. "I will put my _laws_ into their minds and write them in their hearts." This is the very same, the commandment, the _covenant_, for there is no other _law_ called God's _law_ that we can refer to in the bible but this. In Jer. xxxii: 40, the everlasting covenant which Paul quotes in xiii Heb. is the same promise as in Jer. xxxi. Now in Ezek. xvi: 8. This is the first covenant to Moses; that it is broken see 59 v. 60-62, shows the second covenant as in Jer., read the history in the chapter. In ch. xx: 37, where the promise is, "I will bring you into the bond (or delivering, see margin,) of the covenant." At first view it would appear as though here was another implied, but I think the preceding verses, particularly the 12th and 20th, show it to be the covenant in which the [52]Sabbath is included, or it may be the everlasting covenant of redemption, given to Jesus just previous to the resurrection. Paul clearly shows that there are but two covenants under the law in his allegory to the Galatians iv: 21-27, and these two must of necessity, as I have shown embrace the ten commandments. Now has this new covenant been broken by man as was the first? Hear Isaiah: "Behold the Lord maketh the earth empty, the inhabitants of the earth burned, and but few left." Why? "Because they have broken the everlasting covenant." See xxiii: 5. Read the whole chapter. Paul says that the professed church in the last days will be covenant breakers. 2 Tim. iii: 2-5. (Macknight's translation.) This must of course be violating, especially, the fourth commandment, the Lord's Sabbath. It would be the height of absurdity to attempt to apply it to the first day of the week, because this is included in the six working days, which God never sanctified nor set apart for an holy day. Now what is to be appended to this everlasting covenant (called new not in respect of its date: it being made from everlasting, and will continue forever,) to ensure us an entrance into the gates of the holy city. Answer. The _testimony of Jesus_. Rev. xii: 17. "That old dragon the devil is pursuing the remnant (the last end) of God's children, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ." In the xiv: 12, John says the faith of Jesus, (same meaning.) Now what is this faith or "testimony of Jesus?" John shows that he was banished to Patmos for the "word of God and the _testimony_ of Jesus Christ." Rev. 1, 9, he says he "bore record of the _testimony_ of Jesus," "and what he saw." 2 v. Just what Jesus had directed his disciples to do. See Math. xxviii: 19, 20. "Teach all nations to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you." This then is what makes the covenant new, appending to it the teaching or testimony of Jesus, after the ceremonial law had been "nailed to the cross." Here it is perfectly clear that the everlasting _covenant_ the ten commandments have undergone no change whatever. Indeed it is impossible that the law of God could be changed; do you say it is possible I may be mistaken? Then I will appeal to Jesus. He says "it is easier for heaven and earth to pass than _one_ tittle of the _law_ to fail." You say this is no proof, for the law of God is the word taught in the old and new testaments. See here then, in Matt. v: 17, 18. Is not this the same _law_ as in Luke 16: 17? Yes. [53]Very well then, see next verse, here he unhesitatingly calls them the commandments; for proof that he means the ten commandments, read 21st verse, "shall not kill," now 27th "nor commit adultery," then 33d, "nor take God's name in vain." His exposition of them as a whole is certainly as clear as this in Matt. xxii: 35-40, reduced to two precepts, love God, and love your neighbor, on these two hang all the law (ceremonial) and the prophets. Dont you see then that if this _law_ is taken away, changed or abolished, that the prophets must fall with it, as certainly as a building would if the foundation was swept away?--The argument is clear that the prophecies cannot be sustained without the _law_. Again, see Luke x: 25-28. The lawyer says, "Master what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus "said unto him what is written in the LAW? how readest thou?" He begins and quotes the two precepts (the essence of the ten commandments) given by the Saviour in Matt. xxii. Jesus says "thou hast answered RIGHT, this do and _thou shalt live_." Is this a safe rule for us? Yes, if you can believe the Saviour. I ask if it could be so if any of the _law_ should fail? No, that would undermine the foundation. Then I have not appealed to Jesus in vain. If all of this does not convince you, just hear the Prophets. "The good man's delight is in the _law_ of the Lord, and in his _law_ doth he meditate day and night." Psl. i: 1, 2. "The _law_ of the Lord is _perfect_, converting the soul." xix. "The _law_ of thy mouth is better unto me than thousands of gold and silver." xix: 72. "Great peace have they that love _thy_ law, and nothing shall offend them." 165. Does the changing of the law by the little horn bring peace? "He that turneth away his ear from hearing the _law_, even his prayer shall be an abomination." Prov, 28: 9. Read this passage again. You that say the Lord is not so particular about his _law_, whether we keep this day or that for a holy day. He says "every thing upon his day." "Seal the _law_ among my disciples." Isa. viii: 16. What for? "It will be binding on them in the new heavens and the new earth." 66: 22, 23, "To the _law_ and the testimony." 20. What can you prove by it if it is changed or abolished? "He will magnify the _law_ and make it honorable." 42: 21. How could he do that if he was going to change or destroy it. "The people in whose heart is my _law_, fear ye not the reproach of men." 51: 7. "After those days saith the Lord, I will put my laws in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts." Jer. 31: [54]33. Then we are certainly bound to obey them. "Her Priests have violated my _law_--and have put no difference between the holy and profane--and have hid their eyes from my SABBATHS, and I am profaned among them." Ezek. xxii: 26. It is just so; we believe it, Lord. It is even among them that say they are looking for Jesus daily. Hear the Apostles. "We establish the _law_." Rom. iii: 31. "The _law is holy, just and good_." What do you mean Paul? The professed Christian world dont believe your testimony: they are teaching that certain part of this _law_ was changed or abolished 25 years before you made this assertion. See chronology. "Love is the fulfilling of the _law_." xiii: 10. See Matt. vii: 12, and Gal. v: 14. James says it is a "_perfect Royal law of liberty_." See page 26, ch. 1: 25, and ii: 8, 9, 10, 12, and iv: 2. This testimony is also rejected as an absurdity, being no better than Paul's, 25 years out of date, for they will have it that the 4th commandment, the Sabbath, was changed at the Resurrection. _The commandments of God_ mean the same as the law.--"All his commandments are sure, they are established _forever and ever_." Who then can change the Sabbath? "A good understanding have all they that do his commandments." "Blessed is the man that delighteth greatly in his commandments." Psl. cxi: and cxii. "O let me not wander from thy commandments." xix: 10, and 35. "I will delight myself in thy commandments which I have loved." 47. "Thy commandment is exceeding broad." 96. "All thy commandments are truth." 151. Can it be proved that God ever altered or changed the truth? Yes, if it can be proved that he changed the Sabbath. "O that thou hadst harkened to my commandments, then had thy peace been as a river, and thy righteousness as the waves of the sea." Isa. 48: 18. See Jesus' exposition and reference to the commandments Matt. v: 19, xv: 3-6. We are told by those who can hardly bear a contradiction, that the 5th commandment means Jesus for father, and New Jerusalem for mother. Jesus shows it is our natural parents, and so does Paul to the Eph. vi: 1-3. See also Matt. xix: 17-19, and xxii: 35-40. Mark xii: 29-31, John xiii: 34, xiv: 31, and xv: 12. The last three quotations relate to his own commandment. See John's testimony on this point. 1st John ii: 4, 7, iii: 21, 24. Rev. xii: 17, and xiv: 12. Now let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter, "fear God and keep his commandments; for this is the _whole_ duty of man," "Blessed are they that do his [55]commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life and may enter in through the gates into the city." Rev. xxii: 14, Ecc. xii: 13. Do you ask for the foundation for this mass of evidence? When Israel violated the holy Sabbath of rest given in the beginning, Gen. ii: 2, 3, 1 John ii: 7, the Lord said unto Moses, how long refuse ye to keep my commandments and my laws? What are they, Lord? Answer, the seventh day Sabbath. See Exo. xvi: 27-30. Now if we trace the bible through in relation to the Sabbath we shall learn that the Lord's threatenings, judgments, and promises, are more than ten fold in comparison with the other nine commandments. What is the reason of this? Answer, the keeping of GOD'S SABBATH HOLY SANCTIFIES AND SAVES THE SOUL! but the keeping of one, or all the other nine without it will not. Now, dear reader, if you are still undecided about the keeping of God's Sabbath, let me persuade you to read these two pages over again, and settle in your mind what you will do with this mass of testimony, directly from God; his Prophets; Jesus Christ and his Apostles. Dare you say you are now 'living by every word of God,' and yet reject all this, with what other testimony is here presented to prove the keeping of the seventh day Sabbath? Dare you run such a risk because the great mass of professed believers in Christendom are doing so? Do you think you can be saved by such a _faith_ and _practice_? Your ministering spirit (if you yet have one,) says no, no! utterly impossible! Then receive the truth in the love of it. Do you perceive that the seventh day Sabbath is God's first _law_ for man? Gen. ii: 2, 3, and the very last promise he ever made to man of a future inheritance is based on the 'doing of these commandments.' It would not help your case at all if you could make out five thousand, instead of ten, commandments; for you would still have to include the ten to get them all. What a beautiful delineation the cxix Psalm is, of this wonderful prototype delivered by God to Moses at Mount Sinai. The _Commandments_ are rehearsed twenty-two times. The _Law_ twenty-three. The _Testimony_ twenty-three. The _Statutes_ twenty-one. The _Precepts_ twenty-two. The _Judgments_ twenty-two. The _Word_ thirty-eight. All referring to the Ark of the Covenant of God. See how perfectly David and Nehemiah links them together with the Sabbath in the xix Psl: 7-9; Neh. ix: 13, 14. 'The [56]_Commandments_, _Law_, _Testimony_ and _Judgments_, are true and righteous all together.' Proof--_Commandments_ and _Laws_, Exo. xvi: 28-30; _Testimony_, Exo. xxv: 16; Isa. viii: 20; _Word_, Exo. xxxiv: 27; Mark vii: 10, 13; _Statutes_ and _Judgments_, Deut. vi: 17, 20; x: 13; Lev. xviii: 5; _Precepts_, Neh. ix: 13, 14; Dan. ix: 5. Who believes that the person that refrains from worshiping 'idols or images,' will be saved for that? or because he honors his father or mother? or because he is no murderer? or does not commit adultery, or steal, or bear false witness, or covet, or not swear? Thousands on thousands have conformed to some and even all the nine, that made no pretensions to religion. We must keep the whole if we would be saved; neither can we be saved by keeping the Sabbath alone. James says 'If we fail in one we are guilty of the whole.' God says 'verily my Sabbaths ye shall keep--that ye may know that I the Lord do SANCTIFY you.' Exo. xxxi: 13. Now I ask if there is any wise men among us that can tell us how the soul is sanctified unless he keeps the Sabbath HOLY. Ezekiel says the Sabbath was given that we might know that the Lord SANCTIFIES. xx. Says the reader, what do you think about those that have died in faith, keeping the first day Sabbath? Just as I do of those that never heard the everlasting gospel at the hour of his judgment. Look at the state of the world _now_, since they have rejected this message, the answer is plain then that condemnation comes, when light or present truth is presented and rejected. We may think our plea of ignorance may excuse us now. But just think of that awful hour, that gathering storm that is now clothing the moral world with darkness that may be felt. The sure and certain precursor of that tremendous "rush" when God roars out of Zion, and utters his voice from Jerusalem, preparatory to the sign of the Son of man in heaven and the trump of the archangel and a great sound, with so much power that earth and sea will reel, and rock, and rend; and cast forth the righteous dead, and the living saints changed; all going up together to meet their glorified Lord. No plea of ignorance will then answer our purpose: thoughts then rushing through our minds with more than lightning speed, will touch every point as on the magnetic telegraph, and show us where and when we rejected the present truth. Good God help the honest ones to see it now, for then it certainly will be forever too late. That God's holy Sabbath is a present truth I have not a shadow [57]of a doubt; that it is stamped with immortality and will be present truth forever and ever, no mortal can dispute:--It was established in Paradise without limitation. Gen. ii: 2, 3. God says "my _covenant will I not_ BREAK _nor_ ALTER." Jesus has shown that not one tittle of this covenant can be _altered_, and told his children (not the Jews only) how they should pray about the Sabbath 36 years after his death. A little farther in the distance stands John the last of the disciples pointing us to Paradise for the commandments. After wading through a few years tribulation, in vision he sees the new Jerusalem, the Mother of us all, the Paradise restored, and cries out "blessed are they that DO (that practice) his commandments, they are going into the city." There they will keep the Sabbath without opposition, as at the beginning. Isa. 66: 23, Heb. iv: 9. This looks just like God's work. Man has undertaken to "_break_ and _alter_" this _law_ by changing the Sabbath. It would be much easier for him to bail the ocean dry, and carry the water to Jupiter by the spoonful; and sweep the thick clouds from the heavens in a thunder storm with the wing of a raven. Who then can alter this covenant? Echo answers, who can alter this covenant? Now who cannot see clearly that the main pillar and foundation of this _Everlasting covenant_ is the ten _commandments_, the _law_ of God, the constitution of the Bible: for every nation, kindred, tongue, and people, given first in Paradise, re-enacted with the nine additional _commandments_, written on tables of stone by the finger of God on mount Sinai, giving it the form of a statute, then delivered to Moses, broken by the Jewish, just as men break any law without destroying it. The same ten commandments and laws, called by Paul the _new_ or _second_ and _everlasting covenant_, confirmed by Jesus, and sealed with his own blood eighteen hundred years ago, written in our minds and our hearts from one generation to another to the present time, always understood when developed in the believer's _practising_ and _doing_ them, with the promise annexed that such obedience will be rewarded by an entrance into the holy city. Rev. xxii: 14. Now in this covenant or ten commandments God has given us a perpetual covenant, a sign forever, and this is the seventh day Sabbath. See Exo. 31: 16. This may bear some comparison with the visions of Ezekiel and John. "Their work was as it were a wheel in the middle of a wheel." "I will give him a white stone, and in [58]the stone a new name." So with the Sabbath it is the main and essential thing. It is clearly that if we keep this holy as God has shown us, then we shall be SANCTIFIED. So we see a holy sanctified soul cannot violate the commandments. But if we reject the light and still persist in saying we will keep one of the working days holy which God never _sanctified_ nor set apart for us, "how does the love of God dwell in that soul?" "If ye love me keep my commandments." Now the history of God's people for the last seven years, or more, is described by John in Rev. xiv: 6-13. An angel preaching the everlasting gospel at the hour of God's judgment. This without any doubt represents all those who were preaching the second Advent doctrine since 1840. During this proclamation, there followed another angel, saying "Babylon is fallen, is fallen." This angel was some of the same Advent lecturers, (for invisible angels dont preach to men.) And the third angel follows them, showing the curse that befell all such as "worship the beast or his image, or _receive his mark_," that is, if they go back again. The same angel or voice that is brought to view in ch. 18: 4, you see he follows the one that announces the fall of Babylon, and cries, come out of her my people: this was a little before and during a cry at Midnight in the fall of 1844. And God's people did respond to that call and come out, does any one ask where from? Answer, the professed churches and no where else. These churches then are Babylon! Now when this cry ended, John describes another very different company, in their patience, (or trying time,) keeping the commandments of God and the faith or testimony of Jesus; who are they? Why, the very same that came out of Babylon. Well, were they not all good christians that obeyed and came out of Babylon? They will be if they belong to this last company and pass through the trial. But did they not keep the commandments of God before this company was developed? Yes all but the 4th commandment. Therefore as I have shown, John gave us no credit for keeping the first for the seventh day Sabbath, neither could it be called keeping the commandments, for if we did it ever so ignorantly, even, we still violated the very essential _law_ in the commandments, and all that John could say therefore was, that them which had the mark of the beast kept some of the commandments. James says "if we fail in one we are guilty of the whole." Now that such a people can be found on the earth as [59]described in the 12 v. and have been uniting in companies for the last two years, on the commandments of God and faith or testimony of Jesus, is indisputable and clear. I say here then is demonstrated proof that Babylon has fallen, and whoever undertakes to prove the contrary must annihilate this people, or "pervert the scriptures." John further shows that this is a remnant (which of course means the last end) made war with, (his meaning is clear,) for "keeping the commandments of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ." xii: 17. Here another question arises, why this people should be persecuted for keeping the commandments, &c., when all, even them which have the mark of the beast, profess to keep them. I suppose all that enrages the Devil and his army is this; that this remnant are actually _practising_ what they believe is the testimony of God and the testimony of Jesus, selling what they have, giving alms, laying up their treasure in heaven, casting themselves entirely loose from this wicked world; doing as their master told them to do, "washing one another's feet," and as the apostles have taught, 'greet all the brethren with an holy kiss,' 'salute every saint in christ Jesus.' Living 'by every word which proceedeth out of the mouth of God,' practice keeping the Sabbath holy, just as God has told them in the commandments. But says the reader, there are tens of thousands that are looking for Jesus, that dont believe the above doctrines, what will become of them? Consult John, he knows better than we do; he has only described two companies. See xiv: 9-11, 12. One is keeping the commandments and faith of Jesus. The other has the mark of the beast. How? See page 45. Is it not clear that the first day of the week for the Sabbath or holy day is a mark of the beast. It surely will be admitted that the Devil was and is the father of all the wicked deeds of Imperial and papal Rome. It is clear then from this history that Sunday, or first day, is his Sabbath throughout christendom. And that he has succeeded among other civilized nations to sanctify and set apart for holy days every working day which God gave us, that _he_ did not sanctify. See page 8th. He will be very careful therefore not to make _war_ on any but those who keep God's Sabbath holy. Contrast this with page 30. John shows that these will all be judged according to their works, or as their work shall be. But them that do (that practice) his commandments may enter in through the gates into the city. But do not some of the rest go in? He does not say they do. He [60]says his reward is with him to give to every man according as his work shall be. Well, who are left out? See 15 v. "And whosoever loveth and maketh a _lie_." Now see 4 of John ii. "He that saith I know him and keepeth not his commandments is a _liar_." But does not the vii Rev. describe a great multitude saved after the 144,000? Yes, but I conclude that these were raised from the dead. The original design of sending out this work was to show that these commandments, the keeping of the Lord's Sabbath, would save the _living_ saints only at the coming of Jesus. Now that the keeping of the seventh day Sabbath has been made void by the working of satan, and is to be restored as one of the _all_ things spoken of by all the holy prophets since the world began, before Jesus can come, is evident. See Acts iii: 20, 21. "And they that shall be of THEE shall _build the old waste places--thou shalt raise up the foundation of many generations_, and thou shalt be called the REPAIRER _of the breach, the_ RESTORER _of paths to dwell in_." Isa. 58: 12. The two following verses show that keeping or restoring the Sabbath is the special work. Jesus says, "they shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven, that _do_ and _teach_ the commandments." That there will yet be a mighty struggle about the restoring and keeping the seventh day Sabbath, that will test every living soul that enters the gates of the city, cannot be disputed. It is evident the Devil is making war on all such. See Rev. xii: 17. "Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy." Amen. WHO ARE THE TRUE ISRAEL? In the xxxi. ch. of Exod., God says, "wherefore the children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath, to observe the Sabbath throughout their generations for a _perpetual_ covenant; it is a _sign_ between me and the children of Israel _forever_." 16, 17 v. _Who are the true Israelites?_ Answer, God's people. Hear Paul: "Is he the God of the Jews only? Is he not also of the Gentiles? Yes of the Gentiles, also; from uncircumcision through _faith_" Rom. iii: 29, 30. God gave his re-enacted commandment or covenant to the natural Jew in B. C. 1491. They broke this covenant, as he told Moses they would, for which he partially destroyed and dispersed them; God then brought in a new covenant which continued the sign of the Sabbath, which was [61]confirmed by Jesus and his Apostle about 1525 years from the first. See Heb. viii: 8, 10, 13; Rom. ii: 15. Their breaking the first covenant never could destroy the commandments of God. Therefore this new or second covenant, made with the house of ISRAEL, Heb. viii: 10, (not the natural Jew only.) is indelibly written upon the heart. Now every child takes the name of his parents. Let us see what the angel Gabriel says to Mary concerning her son: "The Lord God will give him the throne of David _his_ father, and he shall reign over the house of Jacob forever." Luke i: 31, 33. Now the prophecy: "There shall come a star out of _Jacob_ and a sceptre shall rise out of _Israel_." Num. Now 1735 years before Jesus was born, God changed Jacob's name to _Israel_, because he prevailed with him. This then is the family name for all who overcome or prevail. God gave this name to his spiritual child, namely, _Israel_. Then Jesus will "reign over the house of _Israel_ forever." This must include all that are saved in the everlasting kingdom. Further, Joseph was the natural son of Jacob, or _Israel_. In his prophetic view and dying testimony to his children, he says, Joseph is a fruitful bough, from _thence is the shepherd_ the stone of _Israel_. Gen. xlix: 22-34. Then this Shepherd (Jesus) is a descendant, and is of the house of _Israel_. Does he not say that he is the Shepherd of the Sheep?--What, of the Jews only? No, but also of the Gentile, "for the promise is not through the law (of ceremonies) but through the righteousness of _faith_," Rom. iv: 13. Micah says, "they shall smite the Judge of _Israel_, that _is to be the ruler in Israel_." v: 1, 2. Now Jesus never was a _judge_ nor _ruler_ in _Israel_. This, then, is a prophecy in the future, that he will judge, and be the Ruler over, the whole house of _Israel_. All the family, both natural Jew and Gentile, will assume the family name, the _whole Israel_ of God. The angel Gabriel's message, then, is clear; David is the father of Jesus, according to the flesh, and Jacob, or rather Israel his father, and Jesus reigns over the house of Israel forever. Paul says, "He is not a Jew which is one outwardly but he is a Jew which is one inwardly." Rom. ii. "There is no difference between the Jew and Greek, (or Gentile) for they are not all _Israel_ that are of _Israel_, neither because they are the seed of Abraham are they all children." Why? Because the children of the promise, of Isaac (is the true seed.) chs. ix and x. To the Gallatians he says, "Now to Abraham (the Grandfather of Israel) and his seed were the [62]promises made: not to many, but as of one and to thy seed which is CHRIST--then says, then says, there is neither Jew nor Greek--but one in Christ Jesus, and if ye be Christ then are ye Abraham's seed and heirs according to the promise." iii. "And as many as walk according to this rule, peace be on them, and mercy, and upon the ISRAEL of God." vi. This, then, is the name of the whole family in heaven; Christ is God's only son and lawful heir, none but the true seed can be joint heirs with Christ in the covenant made with Abraham. Ezekiel's prophecy in xxxvii. ch., God says "he will bring up out of their _graves_ the _whole house of Israel_." "and I will put my spirit in you and ye shall _live_." 11-14. If God here means any other than the spiritual _Israel_, then Universalism is true--for the _whole_ house of natural Israel did not die in faith; if the wicked Jews are to be raised and live before God, then will _all_ the wicked! For God is no respecter of persons: "And the heathen shall know that I the Lord do sanctify _Israel_ when my sanctuary shall be in the midst of them forevermore." 28 v. Here, then, we prove that the dead and living saints are the whole _Israel_ of God, and the Covenant and Sign is binding on them into the gates of the holy city. Rev. xx: 14. TWO QUESTIONS FOR SHEPHERDS AND PRINCIPALS OF THE FLOCK, ANY WHERE AND EVERY WHERE. When and where has God abolished his _commandments_ and laws? namely the seventh day Sabbath as recorded in Exo. xvi: 28-30. When, and where did God ever sanctify the _first_, or any other day but the seventh to be kept for a holy day of rest? Will God ever justify any living soul for attempting to keep one of the six working days holy? [63]RECAPITULATION 1. Page 5. _When was the Sabbath instituted?_ Here we have endeavored to show when, and how it continued until its re-enactment on Mount Sinai. 2. Page 11. _Has the Sabbath been abolished since the seventh day of creation? If so, when, and where is the proof?_ Here we believe we have adduced incontestible proof from the scriptures; from the two separate codes of laws given, viz: the first on tables of stone, called by God, prophets, Jesus, and his Apostle. 3. The commandments of God. 2d code, the Book of Moses, as written from the mouth of God, the book of ceremonies, combining ecclesiastical and civil law, which Paul shows was nailed to the cross with all _their Sabbaths_ as _carnal commandments_, (the law of ceremonies,) because their feasts commenced and ended with a Sabbath. See Lev xxiii. Please read from 20th page onward, how Jesus and the Apostle make the distinction. 3. Page 31. _Was the seventh day Sabbath ever changed? If so, when, and for what reason?_ Here we find, by examining the proofs set forth by those who favor and insist upon the change, that there is not one passage of scripture in the bible to sustain it, but to the contrary, that Jesus kept it and gave directions about it at the destruction of Jerusalem. Paul also, and other Apostles taught how we were to keep the commandments. 4. Page 45. The History which is uncontroverted. 5. The time when the Sabbath commences. See pages 35 and 36, not 31, as on page 46. The sun in the centre of the globe, at the commencement of the sacred year (March or April) is the great regulator or time-keeper for every living soul on this planet. Gen. 1: 14, Exo. xii: 2. 6. Page 49 begins with the _covenants_. Here by tracing them through the bible we find them founded on the ten commandments. The Sabbath of the Lord our God, the connecting link, or covenant within the covenant; the first _law_ ever given, annexed to the last promise ever made, which if obeyed will save them that are alive when Jesus comes ... Sabbath HOLY. ... principals of the flock. Transcriber's Notes Page numbers from the original have been retained and enclosed in [] square brackets. Words in italics in the original are surrounded by _underscores_. Ellipses on page 63 represent text missing in the original. When a copy of the book with the missing text intact is found, this file will be updated. This is an old text. As such, spelling is often inconsistent. Spelling has been left as in the original with the exception of typographical errors. The following typographical errors have been corrected: Page iii: proving clearly that the doing of[of missing in original] these commandments Page 6: two thousand years before{original has befere} Abraham Page 8: adopted peculiar{original has pecular} days to suit themselves Page 12: xviii:[original has xvii] 4, 11. Page 18: (when will{original has wlil} this be Paul) Page 19: also 3d v{original has 3dv} of 2d Cor: iii Page 22: follow any of their{original has heir} customs Page 23: without the least intimation{original has ntimation} from him Page 26: the man that{original has tha} shall Page 27: taught the same doctrines{original has doctrince} Page 28: We are repeatedly{original has re- on one line and repeatedly on the next} told Page 28: 2d{original has 3d}, announcing the fall of Babylon Page 28: And this{original has this this} picture Page 32: the christians of Troas{original has Traos} Page 33: ever mentioned by numbers{original has uumbers} Page 36: at the summer solstice{original has solistice} Page 50: Lev. xvi{original has vvi}: 15. Page 52: broken the everlasting{original has everlastidg} covenant Page 59: keeping the commandments{original has commandmentr} Page 60: covenant which continued{original has eontinued} Page 62: Christ{original has Cbrist} is God's only son Page 62: 11-14.{original has 17-14} The following punctuation corrections have been made to the text. Page i: from the _beginning_."{period and quotation mark missing in original} Page iv: as was the first edition.{period missing in original} Page 6: claimed as the father of the Jews{original has extraneous parenthesis} Page 6: _statutes_ and my _laws_."{quotation mark missing in original} Page 8: children of Israel _forever_."{quotation mark missing in original} Page 14: "Well,"{quotation mark missing in original} says one, Page 16: Psl.{period missing in original} viii: 3. Page 16: Heb. iv: 9,{comma missing in original} Rev. 22: 14 Page 17: third part of a shekel"{quotation mark missing in original} Page 19: for 78 Sabbaths in succession.{period missing in original} Page 20: children of Israel in Mount Sinai"{quotation mark missing in original} Page 22: I have already quoted Matt. 5: 17,{comma is missing in original} 18 Page 22: tauntingly asked "{original has single quote}which is the Page 23: John xv:{original has comma} 10 Page 24: "_great_ apostle to the Gentiles:"{quotation mark is missing in original} Page 24: "{quotation mark is missing in original}circumcision is nothing Page 25: Gal.{period is missing in original} iii: 11-23, 23-25. Page 26: perish with their using?"{quotation mark is missing in original} Page 26: handwriting in his book,{original has period} Page 26: i:{original has semi-colon} 25. Page 33: Justin Marter in his Apology{original has extraneous period} Page 34: "{quotation mark missing in original}it was so at that time Page 35: from sunrise to sunset.{period missing in original} Page 36: Gen.{period missing in original} i: 5. Page 37: time before he was created."{quotation mark missing in original} Page 39: xxi.{original has comma} ch. John Page 43: judge righteous judgment."{original has single quote} Page 46: {original has extraneous quotation mark}Jesus says there are but twelve Page 47: {original has extraneous single quote}This testimony first Page 48: See Exod. xvi: 27-30.{period missing in original} Page 48: the wrong covenant.'{quotation mark missing in original} Page 49: Eph.{period missing in original} i: 14. Page 49: brought to view by Paul.{period missing in original} Page 49: Rom. xi: 26, 27.{period missing in original} Page 50: testimony of Jesus'{quotation mark missing in original} Page 51: in the viii. ch.{period missing in original} on this Covenant Page 51: quotes from the viii. ch.{period missing in original} Page 51: In ch.{period missing in original} xx: 37 Page 51: of the covenant."{period and quotation mark missing in original} Page 53: they that love _thy_{original has extraneous comma} law Page 53: shall be an abomination."{quotation mark missing in original} Page 53: Isa.{original has comma} viii: 16. Page 53: 66:{original has comma} 22, 23 Page 54: profaned among them."{quotation mark missing in original} Page 54: Rom. iii: 31.{period missing in original} Page 54: "{quotation mark missing in original}_perfect Royal law of liberty_." Page 54: waves of the sea."{quotation mark missing in original} Page 55: Gen.{original has comma} ii: 2, 3 Page 57: into the city.{period missing in original} Page 57: in the middle of a wheel.{period missing in original} Page 60: _of paths to dwell in_."{quotation mark missing in original} Page 60: children of Israel _forever_."{quotation mark missing in original} Page 61: righteousness of _faith_,"{quotation mark missing in original} 
45537	----	[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.] [Illustration: Louis and Alice Ansted call on Claire. p. 206] INTERRUPTED BY PANSY AUTHOR OF "AN ENDLESS CHAIN," "MRS. SOLOMON SMITH LOOKING ON," "CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS," "A HEDGE FENCE," "ESTER RIED YET SPEAKING," "THE HALL IN THE GROVE," "CHAUTAUQUA GIRLS," "RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSSES," "THE MAN OF THE HOUSE," ETC., ETC. [Illustration] BOSTON LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1885, BY D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY. _All rights reserved._ PANSY TRADE-MARK REGISTERED JUNE 4, 1895. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. REACHING INTO TO-MORROW 7 CHAPTER II. WHY? 22 CHAPTER III. OUT IN THE WORLD 36 CHAPTER IV. AN OPEN DOOR 51 CHAPTER V. TRYING TO ENDURE 65 CHAPTER VI. LIFTED UP 79 CHAPTER VII. "OUR CHURCH." 93 CHAPTER VIII. MAKING OPPORTUNITIES 108 CHAPTER IX. OUTSIDE THE CIRCLE 123 CHAPTER X. AN OPEN DOOR 138 CHAPTER XI. A "FANATIC." 153 CHAPTER XII. LOGIC AND LABOR 168 CHAPTER XIII. INNOVATIONS 183 CHAPTER XIV. BLIND 200 CHAPTER XV. STARTING FOR HOME 218 CHAPTER XVI. LOST FRIENDS 235 CHAPTER XVII. SPREADING NETS 254 CHAPTER XVIII. BUD IN SEARCH OF COMFORT 271 CHAPTER XIX. COMFORTED 287 CHAPTER XX. BUD AS A TEACHER 303 CHAPTER XXI. ONE OF THE VICTIMS 318 CHAPTER XXII. NEW LINES OF WORK 332 CHAPTER XXIII. UNPALATABLE TRUTHS 347 CHAPTER XXIV. RECOGNITION 362 CHAPTER XXV. DANGERS SEEN AND UNSEEN 376 CHAPTER XXVI. AN ESCAPED VICTIM 391 CHAPTER XXVII. THE SUMMER'S STORY 408 CHAPTER XXVIII. A FAMILY SECRET 423 INTERRUPTED. CHAPTER I. REACHING INTO TO-MORROW. FROM the back parlor there came the sound of fresh young voices brimming with energy. Several voices at once, indeed, after the fashion of eager young ladies well acquainted with one another, and having important schemes to further. Occasionally there were bursts of laughter, indicating that freedom of speech and good fellowship reigned among the workers. The committee, or the society, or the association, whatever it was, was breaking up, for the door was ajar, one young lady standing near it, her hand out as if to open it wider, preparatory to departure, while she waited to say another of the many last things. Others were drawing wraps about them, or donning furs and overshoes, and talking as they worked. Their voices, clear and brisk, sounded distinctly down the long hall. "And about the Committee on Award; you will attend to that, Claire, will you not?" "Oh, and what are we to do about Mrs. Stuart?" "Why, Claire promised to see her. She is just the one to do it. Mrs. Stuart will do anything for her." "And, Claire, you must be sure to see the Snyders before the judge starts on his Southern trip! If we don't get his positive promise, we may have trouble." "Claire Benedict, you promised to help me with my Turkish costume, you know. I haven't the least idea how to get it up." Then a younger voice: "Miss Claire, you will drill me on my recitation, won't you? Mamma says you are just the one to show me how." "And, oh! Claire, don't forget to see that ponderous Doctor Wheelock and get his subscription. It frightens me to think of going to him." In the sitting-room opposite stood Claire's younger sister, Dora Benedict. She had just come in from the outer world, and with part of her wraps still gathered about her, stood watching the falling snow, and listening to the voices in the back parlor. At this point she spoke: "Mamma, just hear the girls! They are heaping up the work on Claire, giving her the planning and the collecting and the drilling, and the greater portion of the programme to attend to, and she calmly agrees to do it all." "Your sister has a great amount of executive ability, my dear, and is always to be depended on. Such people are sure to have plenty of burdens to carry." Mrs. Benedict said this in a gently modulated, satisfied voice, and leaned back in her easy chair and smiled as she spoke. She delayed a stitch in her crimson tidy, while she listened a moment to the sound of Claire's voice, calmly and assuringly shouldering the burdens of work; promising here, offering there, until the listeners in the sitting-room were prepared to sympathize with the words spoken in the parlor in a relieved tone of voice: "I declare, Claire Benedict, you are a host in yourself! What we should do without you is more than I can imagine." "I should think as much!" This from the girl in the brown-plumed hat, who listened in the next room. "You couldn't do without her! that is just all there would be about it! Two thirds of your nice plans, for which you get so much credit, would fall through. Mamma, do you think Claire ought to attempt so much?" "Well, I don't know," responded the gentle-faced woman thus appealed to, pausing again in her fancy work to consider the question. "Claire has remarkable talent, you know, in all these directions. She is a born organizer and leader, and the girls are willing to follow her lead. I don't know but she works too hard. It is difficult to avoid that, with so many people depending on her I don't myself see how they would manage without her. You know Doctor Ellis feels much the same. He was telling your father, only last night, that there was not another young lady in the church on whom he could depend as he did on her. Your father was amused at his earnestness. He said he should almost feel like giving up his pastorate here, if he should lose her. Claire is certainly a power in the church, and the society generally. I should feel sorry for them if they were to lose her." The mother spoke this sentence quietly, with the unruffled look of peace and satisfaction on her face. No foreboding of loss came to her. She thought, it is true, of the barely possible time when her eldest daughter might go out from this home into some other, and have other cares and responsibilities, but the day seemed very remote. Claire was young, and was absorbed in her church and home work. Apparently, even the _suggestion_ of another home had not come to her. It might never come. She might live always in the dear home nest, sheltered, and sheltering, in her turn, others less favored. Or in the event of a change, some time in the future, it might be, possibly, just from one street in the same city to another, and much of the old life go on still; and in any event the mother could say "their loss," not mine; for the sense of possible separation had not come near enough to shadow the mother's heart as yet; she lived in the dreamland of belief that a married daughter would be as near to the mother and the home as an unmarried one. Therefore her face was placid, and she sewed her crimson threads and talked placidly of what might have been, but was not; the future looked secure and smiling. "You see," she continued to the young and but half-satisfied daughter, "it is an unusual combination of things that makes your sister so important to this society. There are not many girls in it who have wealth and leisure, and the peculiar talents required for leadership. Run over the list in your mind, and you will notice that those who have plenty of time would not know what to do with it unless Claire were here to tell them, and those who have plenty of money would fritter it all away, without her to guide, and set a grand example for them." "I am not questioning her ability, mamma," the daughter said, with a little laugh, "that is, her mental ability; but it seems to me they ought to remember that she has a body, as well as the others. Still, she will always work at something, I suppose; she is made in that mold. Mamma, what do you suppose Claire would do if she were poor?" "I haven't the least idea, daughter. I hope she would do the best she could; but I think I feel grateful that there seems little probability of our discovering by experience." "Still, one can never tell what may happen." "Oh, no, that is true; I was speaking of probabilities." Still the mother's face was placid. She called them probabilities, but when she thought of her husband's wealth and position in the mercantile world, they really seemed to her very much like certainties. And now the little coterie in the back parlor broke up in earnest, and, exclaiming over the lateness of the hour, made haste into the snowy world outside. Claire followed the last one to the door; a young and pretty girl, afraid of her own decided capabilities, unless kissed and petted by this stronger spirit into using them. "You will be sure to do well, Alice dear, and remember I depend on you." This was the last drop of dew for the frightened young flower, and it brightened visibly under it, and murmured: "I will do my best; I don't want to disappoint you." Then Claire came into the sitting-room, and dropped with an air of satisfied weariness into one of the luxurious chairs, and folded her hands to rest. "Dora thinks you are carrying too much on your shoulders, dear." This from the fancy worker. "Oh, no, mamma, my shoulders are strong. Everything is in fine train. I think our girls are really getting interested in missions now, as well as in having a good time, that is what I am after, you know, but some of them don't suspect it. Why didn't you come to the committee meeting, Dora?" "I have but just come in from Strausser's, on that commission, you know, and I thought if I appeared, there would be so many questions to answer, and so much to explain, that the girls would not get away to-night." "Oh, did you see Mr. Strausser? Well, what did he say?" And Claire sat erect, her weariness gone, and gave herself to work again. The door bell rang, and she was presently summoned to the hall. "One of your poor persons," was the servant's message. There seemed to be a long story to tell, and Claire listened, and questioned, and commented, and rang the bell to give directions for a certain package from a certain closet to be brought, and sent Dora to her room for her pocket-book, and finally the "poor person" went away, her voice sounding cheered and grateful as she said inquiringly: "Then you will be sure to come over to-morrow?" Dora laughed, as Claire returned to the easy chair. "How many things you are going to do to-morrow, Claire? I heard you promise the girls a dozen or so. And that reminds me that Doctor Ellis wants to know if you will look in to-morrow, and go with Mrs. Ellis to call on a new family, of whom he said he told you." "I know," said Claire, "I was thinking about them this morning. I must try and go to-morrow. They are people who ought not to be neglected. Did he say at what hour? Oh, mamma, have you that broth ready for aunt Kate? I might go around there with it now: I shall not have time to-morrow, and I promised her I would come myself before the week closed." Then the fast falling snow was discussed, and demurred over a little by mother and younger sister, and laughingly accepted by Claire as a pleasant accessory to a winter walk; and it ended, as things were apt to end in that family, in Claire having her own way, and sallying forth equipped for the storm, with her basket of comforts on her arm. She looked back to Dora to say that mamma must not worry if she were detained, for she had promised to look in at Mr. Anstead's and make some arrangements for to-morrow's committee meeting; and to add that the papers in the library were to be left as they were, ready for to-morrow. "It is the eventful day," she said, laughingly, "our work is to culminate then. We are to discover what the fruit of all this getting ready is; we are to have things just as they are to be, without a break or a pause." "Perhaps," said Dora. "Why do you say 'perhaps,' you naughty croaker? Do you dare to think that anything will be less than perfect after the weeks of labor we have given it?" "How can I tell? Nothing is ever perfect. Did you never notice, Claire, that it is impossible to get through a single day just as one plans it?" "I have noticed it," Claire answered, smiling, "but I did not know that your young head had taken it in." "Ah, but I have. _I_ plan occasionally, myself, but I am like Paul in one thing, any way, 'how to perform I find not.' It is worse on Saturday than any other day. I almost never do as I intended." "I wouldn't quote Bible verses with a twisted meaning, if I were you, little girl. It is a dangerous habit; I know by experience. They so perfectly fit into life, that one is sorely tempted. But I am not often troubled in the way you mention; my plans generally come out all right. Possibly because I have studied them from several sides, and foreseen and provided for hindrances. There is a great deal in that. You see, to-morrow, if I don't get through with all the engagements laid out for it. I have studied them all, and there really _can't_ anything happen to throw me very far off my programme." There was an air of complacency about the speaker, and a satisfied smile on her face as she tripped briskly away. She was a skilful and successful general. Was there any harm in her realizing it? Dora went back to the gentle mother. "The house will be alive all day to-morrow, mamma. Claire has half a dozen committee meetings here at different hours, and a great rehearsal of all their exercises for the literary entertainment. There will be no place for quiet, well-behaved people like you and me. What do you suppose is the matter with me? I feel like a croaker. If Claire had not just scolded me for quoting the Bible to suit my moods, I should have said to her, 'Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.'" Mrs. Benedict looked up searchingly into the face of her young daughter, who was so unlike her sister, who took life doubtfully, and bristled with interrogation points, and dreamed while the other worked, and leaned on Claire everywhere and always, even as she knew she did herself. "Claire isn't boastful, dear, I think," she said gently. "It is right for her to rest in the brightness of the present and to trust to-morrow." "Oh, she has planned to-morrow, mamma; there is nothing to trust about." Then after a moment: "Mamma, she is good and splendid, just as she always is, and I am cross." Whereupon she sprang to meet her father, and before he had divested himself of his snowy great-coat, she had covered his bearded face with kisses and dropped some tears on his hands. It was after family worship that evening, when the father stood with a daughter on either side of him, with an arm around each, that he rallied Dora on her tearful greeting. "Dora is mercurial," her mother said. "Her birthday comes in April, and there is very apt to be a shower right in the midst of sunshine." "She has studied too hard to-day," the father said, kissing her fondly. "After a good night's rest, the sunshine will get the better of the showers." "They both need developing in exactly different ways," he said to the mother when they were left to themselves. He looked after his two beautiful girls fondly as he spoke, but the last words they had heard from him were: "Good-night, daughters! Get ready for a bright to-morrow. The storm is about over." "The storm did not trouble me," said Claire. "Real work often gets on better in a storm; and I think we shall have a chance to try it. I think papa is mistaken; the sky says to me that we shall have a stormy day." When "to-morrow" came, the sun shone brilliantly in a cloudless sky; but every shutter in the Benedict mansion was closed, and crape streamed from the doorknobs; and during all that memorable day neither daughter did one thing that had been planned for the day before. CHAPTER II. WHY? JUST at midnight--that is, just at the dawning of the "to-morrow" for which so much had been planned--Claire was awakened by a quick, decisive knock at her door, followed by a voice which expressed haste and terror: "Miss Claire, your mother wants you to come right away, and bring Miss Dora. Your father is sick." And Claire was alert in an instant, wakening, soothing and helping the frightened Dora. She herself was not greatly alarmed. It is true, her father was not subject to sudden illnesses; but then, men were often sick, and very sick, too, while the attack lasted. She called to mind the story Nettie Stuart had told her that afternoon, how "papa was so ill the night before that they really thought he would die, and everybody in the house was up waiting on him." Yet "papa" had been at the bank that next day, looking nearly as well as usual. Had it been her frail mother who was ill, Claire felt that her pulses would have quickened more than they did now. Mamma did not seem strong enough to bear much pain, but papa was a man of iron frame, everybody said. She told over some of these encouraging thoughts to Dora, while she helped her to dress: "Don't tremble so, darling; there is nothing to be frightened about. Papa has one of his dreadful headaches, I presume, and mamma needs us to help care for him. You know she is not feeling so well as usual. She promised to call me the next time papa needed nursing. Men are so unused to suffering, that a pain is something terrible to them while it lasts." They sped down the stairs together, Claire having slackened none of her speed because she believed there was no cause for alarm. Her hand was on her mother's doorknob, when the door swung open, and the mother's white face made her start back in affright. "Where are they?" she said, in a strange, agonized voice, groping about with her hand as though she did not see distinctly, though the hall was brightly lighted. "O, children, children, you are too late! Oh, why"--and she fell senseless at their feet; and Claire was bending over her, lifting her in trembling arms, trying to speak soothing words, all the time wondering in a terror-stricken way what all this could mean! Too late for what? They had to settle down to inevitable facts, as so many poor souls before, and since, have had to do. Of course, the first wildness of grief passed, and they realized but too well that the father who had kissed them and bade them look out for a bright to-morrow, had gone away, and taken all the brightness of the to-morrow with him. At first they could not believe it possible. Father dead! Why, his robust frame and splendid physique had been the remark of guests ever since they could remember! He had been fond of boasting that a physician had not been called for him in twenty years. Well, the physician arrived too late on this particular night, when he had been called; another call had been louder, and the father went to answer to it. Well for him that he had long before made ready for this journey, and that there was nothing in the summons that would have alarmed him, had he been given time to have realized it. The poor widow went over, again and again, the details of that awful hour: "We had a little talk together, just as usual. Much of it was about you; that was natural, too; he talked a great deal about you, children; and on that evening, he said, after you left the room, that you both needed developing in different ways, and sometimes it troubled him to know how it was to be done. I did not understand him, and I asked what he meant. He said some things that I will try to tell you when my head is clearer. He was very earnest about it, and asked me to kneel down with him, and he prayed again for you, dear girls, and for me, a wonderful prayer. It wasn't like any that I ever heard before. Oh, I might have known then that it was to prepare me; but I didn't think of such a thing. I asked him if he felt well, and he said, oh, yes, only more tired than usual; it had been a hard day, and there were business matters that were not so smooth as he could wish. But he told me there was nothing to worry about; only affairs that would require careful handling, such as he meant to give them. Then he dropped to sleep, and I lay awake a little, thinking over what he had said about you two, and wondering if he was right in his conclusions. At last I slept, too, and I knew nothing more until his heavy breathing awakened me. "I made all possible haste for lights, and sent for the doctor and for you just as soon as I could get an answer to the bell; and Thomas was quick, too, but it seemed an age. The moment I had a glimpse of your father's face, I knew something dreadful was the matter; but I did not think, even then, that he was going to leave me." At this point the desolate wife would break into a storm of tears, and the daughters would give themselves to soothing words and tender kisses, and put aside as best they could the consuming desire to know what that dear father's last thoughts had been for them. Well, the days passed. Isn't it curious how time moves along steadily, after the object for which we think time was made has slipped away? This sudden death, however, had made an unusual break in the usual order of things. Mr. Benedict's name was too closely identified with all the business interests of the city, as well as with its moral and religious interests, not to have his departure from their midst make great differences, and be widely felt. The few days following his death were days of general and spontaneous public demonstration. On the afternoon of the funeral, great warehouses were closed, because his name was identified with them; stores were closed, because crape waved from the doors of his, the largest in the line. The First National Bank was closed, for he was one of the Directors. The public schools were closed, because he had been prominent among their Board of Directors; and it was so that on every street some token of the power of the great man gone was shown. As for the church, and the Sabbath-school, and the prayer-room, they were draped in mourning; but that feebly expressed the sense of loss. "We cannot close our doors to show our sorrow," said Doctor Ellis, his lips tremulous; "we have need to throw them more widely open, and rally with renewed effort, for one of the mighty is fallen." To the widow and her girls, there was, as the hours passed, a sort of sad pleasure in noting this universal mourning; in listening to the tearful words expressing a sense of personal loss, which came right from the hearts of so many men and women and children. They began to see that they had not half realized his power in the community, as young men in plain, sometimes rough dress, men whose names they had never heard, and whose faces they had never seen, came and stood over the coffin, and dropped great tears as they told in the brief and subdued language of the heart, of some lift, or word, or touch of kindness, that this man had given them, just when they needed it most. Born of these tender and grateful tributes from all classes, was a drop of bitterness that seemed to spread as Claire turned it over in her troubled heart. It could all be suggested to those familiar with the intricacies of the human heart, by that one little word, Why? It sometimes becomes an awful word, with power to torture the torn heart almost to madness. "Why was father, a man so good, so true, so grand, so sadly needed in this wicked world, snatched from it just in the prime of his power?" She brooded over this in silence and in secret--not wishing to burden her mother's heart by the query, not liking to add a suggestion of bitterness to Dora's sorrowful cup. Only once, when a fresh exhibition of his care for others, and the fruit it bore, was unexpectedly made to them, she was betrayed into exclaiming: "I cannot understand why it was!" Whether the mother understood her or not, she did not know. She hoped not; she was sorry she had spoken. But presently the mother roused herself to say gently: "You girls were on your father's heart in a strange way. That last talk about you I must try to tell you of, when I can. The substance of it I have told you. He thought you both needed developing. Dora dear, he said you needed more self-reliance; that you had too many props, and depended on them. He might have said the same of me; I depended on him more than I knew. He said you needed to be thrust out a little, and learn to stand alone, and brave winds and storms. And Claire, I don't think I fully understood what he wanted for you, only he said that you needed to trust less to your own self, and lean on Christ." After this word from her father, Claire sat in startled silence for a few minutes, then took it to her room. Did you ever notice that the storms of life seem almost never to come in detached waves, but follow each other in rapid succession? When the Benedict family parted for the night, less than a week after the father had been laid in the grave, Dora said listlessly to her sister: "There is one little alleviation, I think, to a heavy blow--for a while, at least, nothing else seems heavy. Things that troubled me last week seem so utterly foolish to-day. I don't this evening seem to care for anything that could happen to us now; to us three, I mean." Before noon of the next day she thought of that sentence again with a sort of dull surprise at her own folly. How do such things occur? I can not tell. Yet how many times in your life have you personally known of them--families who are millionnaires to-day, and beggars to-morrow? It was just that sort of blow which came to the Benedicts. Came, indeed, because of the other one, and followed hard after it. Business men tried to explain matters to the widow. A peculiar complication of circumstances existed, which called for her husband's clear brain and wise handling. Had he lived, all would have been well; there was scarcely a doubt of it. Had he been able to give one week more to business, he would have shaped everything to his mind; but the call came just at the moment when he could least be spared, and financial ruin had followed. Mrs. Benedict, in her widow's cap, with her plaintive white face, her delicate, trembling hands working nervously in her lap, from which the crimson fancy work was gone, tried to understand the bewilderments which, one after another, were presented to her, and grew less and less able to take in the meaning of the great words, and at last raised herself from her easy chair, looked round pitifully for Claire, and sank back among the cushions--her face, if possible, whiter than before. The elder daughter came swiftly forward from her obscurity in the back parlor, and stood beside her mother. "I beg pardon, gentlemen, but mamma does not understand business terms; my father never burdened her with them. Will you let me ask you a few plain questions? Is my father's money all gone?" The gentlemen looked from one to another, and hesitated. At last the lawyer among them said he feared--that is, it was believed--it seemed to be almost certain that when all the business was settled, there would be a mere pittance left. The next question caused two red spots to glow on Claire's cheeks, but she held her head erect, and her voice was steady: "And do they--does anybody think that my father did wrong in any way?" "Mamma," with a tender, apologetic glance at her, "people say such things sometimes, you know, when they do not understand." But the gentlemen could be voluble now: "Oh, no! no, indeed! not a breath of suspicion attached to his name. His intentions were as clear as the sunlight, and the fact was, he had periled his own fortune in a dangerous time, to help others who were in straits, and he had been called to leave it at a dangerous time, and disaster has followed." One question more: "Will others be sufferers through this disaster?" The answer was not so ready. The gentlemen seemed to find it necessary to look again at one another. They, however, finally admitted, to each other, that there was property enough to cover everybody's loss, if that were the wish of the family; this, without any doubt, but there would be almost nothing left. "Very well," Claire said, "then we can bear it. We thank you, gentlemen, and you may be sure of this one thing--that no person shall lose a penny through our father's loss, if we can help it. Now, may I ask you to leave further particulars until another time? Mamma has borne as much as she can to-day." And the gentlemen, as they went down the steps of the great brownstone front, said to each other that Benedict had left a splendid girl, with self-reliance enough to manage for herself and take care of the family. Yet I suppose there had never been a time when Claire Benedict felt more as though all the powers which had hitherto sustained her, were about to desert, and leave her helpless, than she did when she controlled her own dismay, and helped her mother to bed, and sat beside her, and bathed her head, and steadily refused to talk, or to hear her mother talk, about this new calamity, but literally hushed her into quiet and to sleep. Then, indeed, she took time to cry, as few girls cry; as Claire Benedict had never cried before in her life. Her self-reliance seemed gone. As the passion of her voiceless grief swayed and fairly frightened her, there stole suddenly into her heart the memory of the last message: "Claire needs to trust less to herself, and lean on Christ." CHAPTER III. OUT IN THE WORLD. I AM not sure that I would, even if I could, give you a detailed account of the days which followed. What is the use of trying to live pain over again on paper? Yet some people need practice of this sort to enable them to have any idea of the sorrows of other hearts. I wonder if you ever went through a large, elegantly furnished house, from room to room, and dismantled it? Packing away this thing as far as possible from curious eyes, soiling the velvet, or the satin, or the gilding of it, perhaps, with bitter tears while you worked; marking that thing with a ticket containing two words which had become hateful to you, "For sale;" hiding away some special treasure in haste, lest the unexpected sight of it might break a heart that was just now bearing all it could. Has such experience ever been yours? Then you know all about it, and can in imagination follow Claire Benedict from attic to basement of her father's house; and no words of mine can make the picture plainer. If it is something you have never experienced, or even remotely touched, you may think you are sympathetic, and you may gravely try to be, but nothing that printed words can say will be apt to help you much in realizing the bitterness of such hours. Isn't it a blessed thing that it is so? Suppose we actually bore on our hearts the individual griefs of the world? How long would our poor bodies be in breaking under the strain? "He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows." It took the Infinite to do this. Through all the miseries of the two weeks during which the process of dismantling went on, Claire Benedict sustained her character for self-reliance and systematic energy. She stood between her mother and the world. She interviewed carmen, and porters, and auctioneers, and talked calmly about the prices of things, the thought of selling which made her flesh fairly quiver. She superintended the moving of heavy furniture, and the packing of delicate glasses and vases, after they had been chosen from the home treasures at private sale. She discussed with possible purchasers the value of this or that carpet, and calculated back to see how long it had been in use, when the very bringing of it into the home had marked an anniversary which made her cheek pale and her breath come hard as she tried to speak the date. There were some who tried to shield her from some of these bitter experiences. There were kind offers of assistance; made, it is true, in the main, by those who were willing, but incompetent; but Claire was in the mood to decline all the help she could. Do her best, there was still so much help actually required, that it made her blush to think of it. "There are a hundred things they want to know," she would explain to those who begged her not to tear her heart and wear her strength by walking through the rooms with those who had come to purchase, possibly, certainly to see, and to ask. "There are a hundred things they want to know that only mamma or I can tell them. It shall never be mamma, and I would rather face them and wait on them alone, than to creep out at call, like an ashamed creature, to answer their demands. There is nothing wicked about it, and I ought to be able to bear what others have had to." Nevertheless, it was cruel work. She knew when the two weeks of private sale were over, and she stood battered and bruised in soul, over the forlorn wrecks of the ruined home, that she had not understood before what a strain it was to be. She had almost borne it alone. It was true, as she had said, that it must be either mamma or herself. Those who in all loving tenderness had tried to help, realized this after the first day. "I don't know, really; I will ask Miss Benedict," was the most frequent answer to the endless questions. Dora's pitiful attempts to help bear the burden seemed to give her sister more pain than anything else. And one day, when to the persistent questioning of a woman in a cotton velvet sack, about the first value of a Persian rug of peculiar pattern and coloring, Dora dropped down on a hassock in a burst of tears, and sobbed: "Oh, I don't know how much it cost; but I know papa brought it when he came from Europe the day I was fourteen. Oh, papa, papa, what shall I do!" Claire came from the next room, calm, pale, cold as a statue, just a swift touch of tenderness for Dora as she stooped over her, saying-- "Run away, darling, I will attend to this," then she was ready to discuss the merits, possible and probable, of the Persian rug, or of anything else in the room. When the woman in the sham velvet bunglingly attempted to explain that she did not mean to hurt poor Dora's feelings, she was answered quietly, even gently, that no harm had been done, that Dora was but a child. When the woman was gone, without the Persian rug--the price having been too great for her purse--Claire went swiftly to the sobbing Dora, and extracted a promise from her that she would never, no, never, attempt to enter one of the public rooms again during those hateful two weeks, and she kept her promise. The next thing, now that the private sale had closed, and Claire could be off guard, was house-hunting. Not in the style of some of her acquaintances, with whom she had explored certain handsome rows of houses "for rent," feeling secretly very sorry for them that they had to submit to the humiliation of living in rented houses and be occasionally subject to the miseries of moving. Claire Benedict had never moved but once, which was when her father changed from his handsome house on one avenue to his far handsomer one on a grander avenue, which experience was full of delight to the energetic young girl. Very different was this moving to be. She was not looking for a house; she was not even looking for a handsome half of a double house, which wore the air of belonging to one family; nor could she even honestly say she was looking for a "flat," because they must, if possible, get along with even less room than this. To so low an estate had they fallen in an hour! You do not want me to linger over the story, nor try to give you any of the shuddering details. The rooms were found and rented, Claire adding another drop to her bitter cup by seeking out Judge Symonds as her security. They were moved into; not until they had been carefully cleaned and brightened to the best of the determined young girl's ability. Two carpets had been saved from the wreck for mother's room and the general sitting-room; and a pitiful, not to say painful, effort had been made to throw something like an air of elegance around "mamma's room." She recognized it the moment she looked on it, with lips that quivered, but with a face that bravely smiled as she said: "Daughter, you have done wonders." She wanted, instead, to cry out: "Woe is me! What shall I do?" This little mother, used to sheltering hands, had been a constant and tender lesson to Claire all through the days. She had not broken down, and lain down and died, as at first Claire had feared she would; neither had she wept and moaned as one who would not be comforted. She had leaned on Claire, it is true, but not in a way that seemed like an added burden; it was rather a balm to the sore heart to have "mamma" gently turn to her for a decisive word, and depend on her advice somewhat as she had depended on the father. It had not been difficult to get a promise from her to have nothing to do with the dreadful sales. "No, dear," she had said quietly, when Claire made her plea, "I will not try to help in that direction; I know that I should hinder rather than help. You can do it all, much better than I. You are like your father, my child; he always took the hard things, so that I did not learn how." The very work with which the mother quietly occupied herself was pathetic. It had been their pleasure to see her fair hands busy with the bright wools, and silks and velvets of fancy work, such as the restless young schoolgirl was too nervous to care for, and the energetic elder daughter was too busy to find time for. It had been their pride to point to many delicate pieces of cunning workmanship, and say they were "mamma's." "So different from most other mothers," Dora would say, fondly and proudly. But on the morning that the sale commenced, the mother had gone over all the wools, and silks, and canvas, and packed them away with that unfinished piece of crimson; and thereafter, her needle, though busy, took the stitches that the discharged seamstress had been wont to take. Claire found her one day patiently darning a rent in a fast breaking tablecloth, which had been consigned by the housekeeper to the drawer for old linen. Scarcely anything in the history of the long, weary day touched Claire so much as this. Such power have the little things to sting us! Some way we make ourselves proof against the larger ones. There had been very little about the experiences of these trying weeks that had to be brought before the family for discussion. They were spared the pain of argument. There had not been two minds about the matter for a moment. Everything must go; the creditors must be satisfied to the uttermost farthing, if possible. That, as a matter of course. Never mind what the law allowed them. They knew nothing about the law, cared nothing for it; they would even have given up their keepsakes and their very dresses, had there been need, and they could have found purchasers. But there had been no need. Disastrous as the failure had been, it was found that there was unincumbered property enough to pay every creditor and have more furniture left than they knew what to do with, besides a sum of money; so small, indeed, that at first poor Claire, unused to calculating on such a small scale, had curled her lip in very scorn, and thought that it might as well have gone with the rest. There came a day when they were settled in those ridiculously small rooms, with every corner and cranny in immaculate order, and had reached the disastrous moment when they might fold their hands and do nothing. Alas for Claire! If there was one thing that she had always hated, it was to do nothing. She was almost glad that it was not possible for her to do this. The absurd little sum set to their credit in the First National Bank, of which her father had for so many years been a part, would barely suffice to pay the ridiculously small rent of these wretched rooms and provide her mother with food and clothing. She must support herself. She must do more than that: Dora must be kept in school. But how was all this to be done? The old question! She had puzzled over it a hundred times for some poor woman on her list. She thought of them now only with shivers. Executive ability? Dear! yes, she had always been admired for having it. But it is one thing to execute, when you have but to put your hand in your pocket for the money that is needed for carrying out your designs; or, if there chance not to be enough therein, trip lightly up the great, granite steps of the all-powerful bank, ask to see "papa" a minute, and come out replenished. It was quite another thing when neither pocket nor bank had aught for her, and the first snows of winter were falling on the father's grave. She had one talent, marked and cultivated to an unusual degree. She had thought of it several times with a little feeling of assurance. Everybody knew that her musical education had been thorough in the extreme, and that her voice was wonderful. She had been told by her teachers many a time that a fortune lay locked up in it. Now was the time for the fortune to come forth. She must teach music; she must secure a position in which to sing on a salary. Claire Benedict of two months ago had been given to curling her lip just a little over the thought that Christian young men and women had to be paid for contributing with their voices to the worship of God on the Sabbath day. The Claire Benedict of to-day, with that great gulf of experience between her and her yesterday, said, with a sob, that she would never sneer again at any honest thing which women did to earn their living. She herself would become a salaried singer. Yes, but how bring it to pass? Did you ever notice how strangely the avenues for employment which have been just at your side seem to close when there is need? More than once had representatives of fashionable churches said wistfully to Claire: "If we could only have your voice in our choir!" Now, a little exertion on her part served to discover to her the surprising fact that there were no vacancies among the churches where salaried singers were in demand. Yes, there was one, and they sought her out. The offered salary would have been a small fortune to her in her present need; but she could not worship in that church; she would not sing the praises of God merely for money. There was earnest urging, but she was firm. There was a specious hint that true worship could be offered anywhere, but Claire replied: "But your hymns ignore the doctrine on which I rest my hope for this life and for the future." It was a comfort to her to remember that when she mentioned the offer to her mother and sister, and said that she could not accept it, her mother had replied, promptly: "Of course not, daughter." And even Dora, who was at the questioning age, inclined to toss her head a little bit at isms and creeds, and hint at the need for liberal views and a broader platform, said: "What an idea! I should have supposed that they would have known better." But it was the only church that offered. Neither did Claire blame them. It was honest truth; there was no opening. A year ago--six months ago--why, even two months ago, golden opportunities would have awaited her; but just now every vacancy was satisfactorily filled. Why should those giving satisfaction, and needing the money, be discharged, to make room for her who needed it no less? Claire was no weak, unreasoning girl who desired any such thing. As for two months ago, at that time the thought of the possibility of ever being willing to fill such a place had not occurred to her. CHAPTER IV. AN OPEN DOOR. WELL, surely there was a chance to teach music to private pupils? No, if you will credit it, there was not even such a chance! There was less reasonable explanation for this closed door than the other. Surely, in the great city, full of would-be musicians, she might have found a corner! Doubtless she would have done so in time, but it amazed her as the days went by, and one by one the pupils on whom she had counted with almost certainty were found to have excellent reasons why they ought to remain with their present teacher, or why they ought not to take up music for the present. In some cases the dilemma was real and the excuse good. In others it was born simply of fear. Oh, yes, they knew that Miss Benedict was a brilliant player, there was not her equal in the city; and as for her voice, it was simply superb; but then it did not follow that a fine musician was a fine teacher. She had not been educated for a teacher; that had been the farthest removed from her intention until necessity forced it upon her. It stood to reason that a girl who had been brought up in luxury, and had cultivated her musical talent as a passion, merely for her own pleasure, should know nothing about the principles of teaching, and have little patience with the drudgery of it. They had always been warned against broken-down ladies as teachers of anything. There was a great deal of this feeling; and Claire, as she began to realize it more, was kept from bitterness because of the honesty of her nature. She could see that there was truth in these conclusions; and while she knew that she could give their children such teaching as the parents might have been glad to get, at any price, she admitted that they could not know this as she did, and were not to blame for caution. She was kept from bitterness by one other experience. There came to see her one evening, a woman who had done plain sewing for her in the days gone by; whom she had paid liberally and for whom she had interested herself to secure better paid labor than she had found her doing. This woman, with a certain confused air, as of one asking a favor, had come to say that she would take it as a great thing, if her Fanny could get into Miss Benedict's music class. Miss Benedict explained kindly that she had no music class, but if she should form one in the city, it would give her pleasure to count Fanny as one of her pupils, and the mother could pay for it, if she wished, in doing a little sewing for them some time, when they should have sewing again to do. The sentence ended with a sigh. But the caller's embarrassment increased. She even forgot to thank the lady for her gracious intention, and looked down at her somewhat faded shawl, and twisted the fringe of it, and blushed, and tried to stammer out something. Claire began to suspect that this was but a small part of her errand, and to be roused to sympathy. Was there anything else she could do for her in any way, she questioned. No! oh, no! there was nothing, only would she--would it not be possible to start a class with her Fanny, and let her pay, not in sewing, but in money, and the full value of the lessons, too; and here the woman stopped twisting the fringe of her shawl, and looked up with womanly dignity. She was doing better, she said; a great deal better than when Miss Benedict first sought her out. Thanks to her, she had plenty of sewing, as much as she could do, and of a good, paying kind; and she had thought--and here the shawl fringe was twisted again--that is, she had supposed or imagined--well, the long and short of it was, sometimes all that things wanted was a beginning, and she thought maybe if Miss Benedict could be so kind as to begin with Fanny, others would come in, and a good class get started before she knew it. There was a suspicious quiver of Claire's chin as she listened to this, but her voice was clear and very gentle as she spoke: "Tell me frankly, Mrs. Jones, do you think Fanny has a decided talent for music, which ought to be cultivated? I don't know the child, I think. Is she a singer?" Then Mrs. Jones, all unused to subterfuge, and at home in the realm of frankness, was betrayed at once into admitting that she had never thought of such a thing as Fanny taking music lessons. No, she didn't sing: at least, not but very little, and she never said much about music; what she wanted was to learn to draw, but she, Mrs. Jones, had thought, as she said--and maybe it was presumption in her to think so--that what most things needed was to get started. No sooner did she get started in another kind of sewing, and among another kind of customers, than work poured in on her faster than she could do, and she thought Fanny would do maybe to start on. Long before the conclusion of this sentence the shawl fringe was suffering again. Claire rose from her seat, and went over and stood before Mrs. Jones, her voice still clear and controlled: "I thank you, Mrs. Jones, for your kind thought. So far from being presumptuous, it was worthy of your warm heart and unselfish nature. I shall not forget it, and it has done me good. But if I were you, I would not have Fanny take music lessons, and I would, if I could, give her drawing lessons. I remember, now, your telling me that she was always marking up her books with little bits of pictures. She probably has a good deal of talent in this direction, and not for music; I would cultivate her talents in the line in which they lie. Miss Parkhurst has a drawing-class just commencing. She is not very far from your corner, on Clark street. I hope Fanny can go to her, and if it would be any convenience to you to pay the bills in sewing, I am quite certain that Miss Parkhurst would be glad to do it. She was speaking about some work of the kind only yesterday, and I recommended you to her as one whom she could trust." So they dropped once more into their natural characters, Claire the suggester and helper, and Mrs. Jones the grateful recipient. She went away thanked and comforted, and convinced that Fanny ought to have a chance at drawing, since Miss Benedict thought she had a talent. As for Claire, she went back to her mother with two bright spots glowing on her cheeks, and knelt down beside her chair, and said: "Mamma, I have just had the most delicate little bit of thoughtfulness shown me that I ever received from the world outside, and I'll tell you one thing it has settled; I mean to accept the first opening, from whatever source, that will take me away from the city. I am almost sure there is no work for me in this city." Yet you are not to suppose that the great world of friends who had been glad of their recognition forgot them or ignored them. Much less are you to suppose that the great church--of which Mr. Benedict was such a prominent part that the projected entertainment for which the young people had been so nearly ready, missionary though it was, was indefinitely postponed when he died--forgot them or grew cold. Whatever the world may do, or whatever solitary individuals in the church may do under financial ruins, the great heart of the true church beats away for its own. And bravely they rallied around the widow, and heartily they tried to be helpful, and were helpful, indeed, so far as warm words and earnest efforts were concerned. But they could not make vacancies for Claire in the line in which her talents fitted her to work. They could not make a strong woman of the mother, able to shoulder burdens such as are always waiting for strong shoulders. They could and would have supported them. For a time, at least, this would have been done joyfully; they longed to do it. They offered help in all possible delicate ways. The trouble was, this family would have none of it. Grateful?--oh, yes, but persistent in gently declining that which was not an absolute necessity. In the very nature of things, as the days passed, they would be in a sense forgotten. Claire saw this, and the mother saw it. The rooms they had taken were very far removed from the old church and the old home and the old circle of friends. It consumed hours of the day to make the journey back and forth. Of course, it could not be made often, nor by many. Of course, the gaps which their changes had made would be filled in time; it was not reasonable to expect otherwise. Nobody expected it, but it was very bitter. And the very first open door that Claire saw was an opportunity to teach music in a little unpretentious academy, in a little unpretentious town, away back among the hills, two hundred miles from the city that had always been her home. It took talking--much of it--to reconcile the mother and sister to the thought of a separation. Through all their changes this one had not been suggested to their minds. They had expected, as a matter of course, to keep together. But necessity is a wonderful logician. The bank account was alarmingly small, and growing daily smaller. Even the unpractical mother and sister could see this. Something must be done, and here was the open door. Why not enter it at once, instead of waiting in idleness and suspense through the winter for something better? Thus argued Claire: "It will not be very easy to leave you, mamma, as you may well imagine," and here the sensitive chin would quiver, "but I should feel safe in doing so, for these ugly rooms are really very conveniently arranged, and Dora would learn to look after everything that Molly could not do by giving two days of work in a week. I have made positive arrangements with her for two days, and she depends upon it; you must not disappoint her. And, mamma, I have thought of what papa said about us," here the low voice took on a tone of peculiar tenderness, "perhaps Dora will learn self-reliance if she is left to shield and care for you; it will be a powerful motive. You know she leans on me now, naturally." This was Claire's strongest argument, and, together with the argument of necessity, prevailed. Barely four weeks from the "to-morrow" which had contained her last bright plans, she was installed as music teacher in the plain little academy building situated in South Plains. And now I know that I need not even attempt to describe the sinking of heart with which she moved down the shabby narrow aisle, and seated herself in the uncushioned pew of the shabby little church on that first Sabbath morning. Uncushioned! that was by no means the worst of the pew's failings. The back was at least four inches lower than it ought to have been, even for so slight a form as Claire's, and was finished with a moulding that projected enough to form a decided ridge. Of course, for purpose of support, the thing was a failure, and, as to appearance, nothing more awkward in the line of sittings could be imagined. Fairly seated in this comfortless spot, the homesick girl looked about her to take in her dreary surroundings. Bare floors, not over clean, the most offensive looking faded red curtains flapping disconsolately against the old-fashioned, small-paned soiled windows; a platform, whose attempts at carpeting represented a large-patterned, soiled ingrain rag, whose colors, once much too bright for the place, had faded into disreputable ghosts of their former selves. The whole effect seemed to Claire by far more dreary than the bare floor of the aisles. A plain, square, four-legged table, that had not even been dusted lately, did duty as a pulpit desk, and a plain, wooden-backed, wooden-seated chair stood behind it. These were the sole attempts at furnishing. The walls of this desolate sanctuary seemed begrimed with the smoke of ages; they were festooned with cobwebs, these furnishing the only attempts at hiding the unsightly cracks. The few dreary-looking kerosene lamps disposed about the room gave the same evidence of neglect in their sadly smoked chimneys and general air of discouragement. However, had Claire but known it, she had cause for gratitude over the fact that they were not lighted, for they could prove their unfitness for the place they occupied in a much more offensive way. Such, then, in brief, was the scene that greeted her sad eyes that morning. How utterly homesick and disheartened she was! It was all so different from the surroundings to which she had all her life been accustomed! She closed her eyes to hide the rush of tears, and to think, foolish girl that she was, of that other church miles and miles away. She could seem to see familiar forms gliding at this moment down the aisles, whose rich carpets gave back no sound of footfall. How soft and clear the colors of that carpet were! A suggestion of the delicately carpeted woods, and the shimmer of sunlight on a summer day toward the sun setting. She had helped to select that carpet herself, and she knew that she had an artist's eye for colors and for harmony. It was not an extravagantly elegant church--as city churches rank--that one to which her heart went back, but just one of those exquisitely finished buildings where every bit of color and carving and design which meet the cultured eye, rests and satisfies. Where the law of harmony touches the delicately frescoed ceiling, reaches down to the luxuriously upholstered pews, finds its home in the trailing vines of the carpet, and breathes out in the roll of the deep-toned organ. It was in such a church, down such a broad and friendly aisle, that Claire Benedict had been wont to follow her father and mother on Sabbath mornings, keeping step to the melody which seemed to steal of itself from the organ, and fill the lofty room. Can you imagine something of the contrast? CHAPTER V. TRYING TO ENDURE. OF course there were other contrasts than those suggested by the two churches which persisted in presenting themselves to this lonely girl. How could she help remembering that in the old home she had been Sidney Benedict's daughter? A fact which of itself gave her place and power in all the doings of the sanctuary. Alas for the changes that a few brief months can make! Sidney Benedict lying in his grave, and his daughter an obscure music-teacher in an obscure boarding and day school; an object to be stared at, and pointed out by the villagers as the new teacher. But for another contrast, which from some divine source stole over her just then, the hot tears which burned her eyes would surely have fallen. Sidney Benedict was not sleeping in the grave; that was only the house of clay in which he had lived. She knew, and suddenly remembered it with a thrill, that his freed soul was in Heaven. What did that mean? she wondered. In vain her imagination tried to paint the contrast. There had been times since his going when she had longed with all the passion of her intense nature to know by actual experience just what Heaven is. But these were cowardly moments. Generally, she had been able to feel thankful that she was here to help mamma and Dora. She remembered this now, along with the memory of her father's joy, and it helped her to choke back the tears, and struggle bravely with her homesickness. Meantime, it was hard for her to forget that she was the observed of all observers. But she did not half understand why this was so. She could not know what a rare bit of beauty she looked in the dingy church; almost like a ray of brightness astray from another world. From her standpoint, her dress was simplicity itself; and she had not lived long enough in this outer circle of society to understand that there are different degrees of simplicity, as well as different opinions concerning the meaning of the word. Her black silk dress was very plainly made, and her seal sacque had been so long worn, that Claire, the millionnaire's daughter, had remarked only last winter that it had served its time and must be supplanted by a new one; the present Claire, of course, did not think of such a thing, but meekly accepted it as part of her cross! Her plain black velvet hat had no other trimming than the long plume which swept all around it, and had been worn the winter before. How could she be expected to have any conception of the effect of her toilet on the country people by whom she was surrounded. Her world had been so far removed from theirs, that had one told her that to them she seemed dressed like a princess, she would have been bewildered and incredulous. Her dress was very far from suiting herself. Her mood had been to envelop herself in heaviest black, and shroud her face from curious gaze behind folds of crape. The only reason she had not done so, had been because the strict sense of honor which governed the fallen family would not allow them to add thus heavily to their expenses. Indeed, to have dressed in such mourning as would have alone appeared suitable to them, would have been impossible. The mother had not seemed to feel this much. "It doesn't matter, children," she had said gently; "they know we miss papa; we have no need of crape to help us tell that story, and for ourselves it would not make our sorrow any less heavy." But the girls had shrunk painfully from curious eyes and conjectured curious remarks, and had shed tears in secret over even this phase of the trouble. The bell whose sharp clang was a continued trial to her cultured ears, ceased its twanging at last, and then it was the wheezy little cabinet organ's turn; and, indeed, those who do not know the capabilities for torture that some of those instruments have, are fortunate. Claire Benedict set her teeth firmly. This was an hundred degrees more painful than the bell, for the name of this was music. How could any person be so depraved in taste as to believe it other than a misnomer! While the choir of seven voices roared through the hymn, Claire shut her eyes, grasped her hymn-book tightly with both hands, set her lips, and endured. What a tremendous bass it was! How fearfully the leading soprano "sang through her nose," in common parlance, though almost everybody understands that we mean precisely opposite! How horribly the tenor flatted, and how entirely did the alto lose the key more than once during the infliction of those six verses! The hymn was an old one, a favorite with Claire, as it had been with her father; but as that choir shrieked out the familiar words-- I love her gates, I love the road, The church adorned with grace, Stands like a palace built for God, To show his milder face, it seemed hardly possible for one reared as she had been, to turn from her surroundings and lose herself in the deep spiritual meaning intended. Nay, when the line, Stands like a palace built for God, was triumphantly hurled at her through those discordant voices, she could hardly keep her sad lips from curling into a sarcastic smile, as she thought of the cracked and smoky walls, the dreadful curtains, the dust and disorder. "A palace built for God!" her heart said in disdain, almost in disgust. "It isn't a decent stopping-place for a respectable man." Then her momentary inclination to smile yielded to genuine indignation. What possible excuse could be offered for such a state of things? Why did respectable people permit such a disgrace? She had seen at least the outside of several of the homes in South Plains, and nothing like the disorder and desolation which reigned here, was permitted about those homes. How could Christian people think they were honoring God by meeting for his worship in a place that would have made the worst housekeeper among them blush for shame had it been her own home. Indignation helped her through the hymn, and with bowed head and throbbing heart, she tried, during the prayer, to come into accord with the spirit of worship. But the whole service was one to be remembered as connected with a weary and nearly fruitless struggle with wayward thoughts. What was the burden of the sermon? She tried in vain afterwards to recall it. A series of well-meant and poorly expressed platitudes. "Nothing wrong about it," thought poor Claire, "except the sin of calling it the gospel, and reading it off to these sleepy people as though he really thought it might do them some good!" Indeed, the minister was almost sleepy himself, or else utterly discouraged. Claire tried to rouse herself to a little interest in him, to wonder whether he were a down-hearted, disappointed man. His coat was seedy, his collar limp and his cuffs frayed at the edges. Yes, these were actually some of the things she thought while he said his sermon over to them! She brought her thoughts with sharp reprimand back to the work of the hour, but they roved again almost as quickly as recalled. At last she gave over the struggle, and set herself to the dangerous work of wondering what Doctor Ellis was saying this morning in the dear old pulpit; whether mamma and Dora missed him as much as she did; whether he looked over occasionally to their vacant seat and missed all the absent ones, papa most of all. But the seat was not vacant, probably; already somebody sat at the head of the pew in papa's place, and somebody's daughters, or sisters, or friends, had her place, and mamma's and Dora's. The niches were filled, doubtless, and the work of the church was going on just the same, and it was only they who were left out in the cold, their hearts bleeding over a gap that would never be filled. Dangerous thoughts, these! One little strain in another key came in again to help her: Papa was not left out; he had gone up higher. What was the old church to him now that he had entered into the church triumphant? He might love it still, but there must be a little pity mingled with the love, and a wistful looking forward to the time when they would all reach to his height, and at that time, mamma and Dora and she would not be left out. If this mood had but lasted, it would have been well; but her undisciplined heart was too much for her, and constantly she wandered back to the thoughts which made the sense of desolation roll over her. She was glad when at last the dreary service was concluded, and she could rush away from the dreary church to the privacy of her small, plain room in the academy, and throw herself on the bed, and indulge to the utmost the passionate burst of sorrow. The tears spent their first force soon, but they left their victim almost sullen. She allowed herself to go over, in imagination, the Sundays which were to come, and pictured all their unutterable dreariness. Did I tell you about the rusty stoves, whose rusty and cobwebby pipes seemed to wander at their own erratic will about that church? It was curious how poor Claire's excited brain fastened upon those stovepipes as the drop too much in her accumulation of horrors. It seemed to her that she could not endure to sit under them, no, not for another Sabbath; and here was a long winter and spring stretching out before her! She was not even to go home for the spring vacation; her poor, ruined purse would not admit of any such extravagance. It would be almost midsummer before she could hope to see mamma and Dora again. And in the meantime, how many Sundays there were! She vexed herself trying to make out the exact number and their exact dates. This mood, miserable as it was, possessed her all the afternoon. It seemed not possible to get away from it. She crept forlornly from her bed presently, because of the necessity of seeing to her expiring fire. She was shivering with the cold; but as she struggled with the damp wood, trying to blow the perverse smoke into a flame, she went on with her indignant, not to say defiant thoughts. She went back again to that dreadful church, and the fires in those neglected stoves. She determined resolutely that her hours spent in that building should be as few as possible. Of course, she must attend the morning service; but nothing could induce her to spend her evenings there. "I might much better sit in my room and read my Bible, and write good Sunday letters to mamma and Dora," she told herself, grimly, as the spiteful smoke suddenly changed its course and puffed in her face. "At least, I shall not go to church. I don't belong to that church, I am thankful to remember, and never shall; I have no special duties toward it; I shall just keep away from it and from contact with the people here, as much as possible. It is enough for me if I do my duty toward those giggling girls who think they are to become musicians under my tuition. I will do my best for them, and I shall certainly earn all the salary I am offered here; then my work in this place will be accomplished. I have nothing to do with the horrors of that church. If the people choose to insult God by worshiping him in such an abomination of desolations as that, it is nothing to me. I must just endure so much of it as I am obliged to, until I can get away from here. I am not to spend my life in South Plains, I should hope." She shuddered over the possibility of this. She did not understand her present state of mind. She seemed to herself not Claire Benedict at all, but a miserable caricature of her. What had become of the strong, bright, willing spirit with which she had been wont to take hold of life? Energetic she had always been called; "self-reliant," she had heard that word applied to herself almost from childhood. "A girl who had a great deal of executive talent." Yes, she used to have; but she seemed now to have no talent of any sort. She felt crushed; as though the motive power had been removed from her. She had borne up bravely while with her mother and younger sister. She had felt the necessity for doing so; her mother's last earthly prop must not fail her, and therefore Claire had done her best. But now there was no more need for endurance. Her tears could not pain mamma or Dora; she had a right to give her grief full sway. She felt responsible to nobody. Her work in the world was done. Not by any intention of hers, she told herself drearily; she had been willing and glad to work; she had rejoiced in it, and had planned for a vigorous and aggressive future, having to do with the best interests of the church. Only think how full of work her hours had been, that day when the clouds shut down on her and set her aside! There was nothing more for her to do. Her plans were shattered, her opportunities swept away, everything had been cruelly interrupted; she could not help it, and she knew no reason for it; certainly she had tried to do her best. But, at least, with her opportunities closed, her responsibility was gone; nothing more could be expected of her; henceforth she must just _endure_. This is just the way life looked to the poor girl on this sad Sabbath. She was still trying to rely on herself; and because herself was found to be such a miserable source of reliance, she gloomily blamed her hard fate, and said that at least her responsibility was over. She did not say in words--"God has taken away all my chances, and he must just be willing to bear the consequences of my enforced idleness;" she would have been shocked had she supposed that such thoughts were being nursed in her heart; but when you look the matter over, what else was she saying? A great many of our half-formed thoughts on which we brood, will not bear the clear gaze of a quiet hour when we mean honest work. CHAPTER VI. LIFTED UP. IT was a very quiet, cold-faced girl who presently obeyed the summons to dinner. Had it not been for those suspiciously red eyes, and a certain pitiful droop of the eyelids, Mrs. Foster would hardly have ventured to break the casing of haughty reserve in which her young music teacher had decided to wrap herself. A rare woman was Mrs. Foster. I wish you knew her well; my pen pauses over an attempt to describe her. I believe descriptions of people never read as the writer intended they should; and there never was a woman harder to put on paper than this same Mrs. Foster. Ostensibly she was the principal of this little academy, which was at present engaged in reaping the results of years of mismanagement and third-rate work. People shook their heads when she took the position, and said that she was foolish. She would never earn her living there in the world; the academy at South Plains was too much run down ever to revive, and there never had been a decent school there anyway, and they didn't believe there ever would be. And, of course, people of this mind did what they could, with their tongues and their apathy, so far as money and pupils were concerned, to prove the truth of their prophecies. But Mrs. Foster, wise, sweet, patient woman that she was, quietly bided her time, and worked her way through seemingly endless discouragements. She was after much more than bread and butter. In reality there was never a more persistent and patient and wise and wary fisher for _souls_ found among quiet and little known human kind than was Mrs. Foster. Had they but known it, there were communities which could have afforded to support her for the sake of the power she would have been in their midst. Nay, there were fathers who could have afforded to make her independent for life, so far as the needs of this world were concerned, for the sake of the influence she would have exerted over their young and tempted sons and daughters. But they did not know it, and she, being as humble as she was earnest, did not half know it herself, and expected nothing of anybody but a fair chance to earn her living, and do all the good she could. In point of fact, she had some difficulty in getting hold of the little, badly-used academy at South Plains. The people who thought she was utterly foolish for attempting anything so hopeless, were supplemented by the people who thought she could not be much, or she would never be willing to come to South Plains Academy. So between them they made it as hard for her as they could. Claire Benedict did not know it until long afterwards, but the fact was, that during her father's funeral services she had been selected as the girl whom Mrs. Foster wanted with her at South Plains. It happened, so we are fond of saying, that Mrs. Foster was spending a few days on business in the city that had always been Claire's home, and she saw how wonderfully large portions of that city were stirred by one death, when Sydney Benedict went to heaven. She speculated much over the sort of life he must have led to have gotten the hold he had on the people. She began to inquire about his family, about his children. Then she heard much of Claire, and grew interested in her, in a manner which seemed strange even to herself. And when at the funeral she first caught a glimpse of the pale face and earnest eyes of the girl who looked only, and with a certain watchful air at her mother, as if she would shield her from every touch that she could, Mrs. Foster had murmured under her breath, "I think this is the girl I want with me." She prayed about it a good deal during the next few days, and grew sure of it, and waited only to make the way plain, so that she could venture her modest little offer, and felt sure that if the Master intended it thus, the offer would be accepted. And it was, but in blindness, so far as Claire Benedict was concerned. I have sometimes questioned whether, if a bright angel had come down out of heaven and stood beside Claire, and said: "The King wants you to go with all speed to South Plains; he has special and important work for you there; he has opened the way for you," the child would not have been more content, and had much less of the feeling that her work was interrupted. But I do not know, she might rather have said: "Why in the world must I go to South Plains? I had work enough to do at home, and I was doing it; and now it will all come to nought because there is no leader! It stands to reason that I, in my poverty and obscurity, down in that out-of-the-way village, can not do as much as I, with my full purse, and leisure days, and happy surroundings, and large acquaintances could do here." We love to be governed by reason, and hate to walk in the dark. I have always wondered what Philip said when called to leave his great meeting, where it seemed hardly possible to do without him, and go toward the south on a desert road. That he went, and promptly, is, I think, a wonderful thing for Philip. Well, the red eyes of the young music-teacher by no means escaped the watchful ones of Mrs. Foster. Neither had her short, almost sharp, negative in reply to a somewhat timidly put question of a pupil, as to whether she was going out to church that evening. There were reasons why Mrs. Foster believed that it would be much better for her sad-hearted music-teacher to go to church than to remain glooming at home. There were, indeed, very special reasons on that particular evening. The Ansted girls' uncle was going to preach, she had heard, but should she go to this young Christian, of whom she as yet knew but little, and offer as a reason for church-going that a stranger was to preach instead of the pastor! However she managed it, Mrs. Foster was sure she would not do that. Yet it will give you a hint of the little woman's ways when I tell you that she was almost equally sure she should manage it in some way. Half an hour before evening service there was a tap at Claire's door, and the principal entered, and came directly to the point: Would Miss Benedict be so kind as to accompany Fanny and Ella Ansted to church that evening? Miss Parsons was suffering with sick headache, and she herself could not leave her. There was no other available chaperone for the young girls, who were not accustomed to going out alone in the evening, but who were unusually anxious to attend church, as their uncle, who had been stopped over the Sabbath by an accident, was to preach. Miss Benedict had her lips parted, ready to say that she was not going out, but paused in the act. What excuse could she give? No sick headache to plead, and nobody to care for; the night was not stormy, if it was sullen, and the church was not a great distance away. She had been wont to accommodate people always, but she never felt so little like it as to-night. However, there stood Mrs. Foster quietly awaiting an answer, and her face seemed to express the belief that of course, the answer would be as she wished. "Very well," came at last from the teacher's lips, and she began at once to make ready. "It is for this I was hired," she told herself bitterly. "I must not forget how utterly changed my life is in this respect as in all others. I am my own mistress no longer, but even in the matter of church-going must hold myself at the call of others." As for the principal, as she closed the door with a gentle "Thank you," she told herself that it was much better for the poor child to go; and that she must see to it what she could do during the week to brighten that room a little. The stuffy church was the same; nay, it was more so, for every vile lamp was lighted now, and sent a sickly, smoky shadow to the ceiling, and cast as little light upon the surrounding darkness as possible. But the uncle! I do not know how to describe to you the difference between him and the dreary reader of the morning! It was not simply the difference in appearance and voice, though really these were tremendous, but he had a solemn message for the people, and not only for the people whose Sabbath home was in that church, but for Claire Benedict as well. She did not think it at first. She smiled drearily over the almost ludicrous incongruity of the text as measured by the surroundings. "If I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy." The folly of supposing that any sane person preferred such a desolate, modern Jerusalem as this above his chief joy! The very care with which the men brushed a clear spot for their hats on the dusty seats, and the manner in which the women gathered their dresses about them, to keep them from contact with the floor, showed the place which the sanctuary held in their affections. But as the preacher developed his theme, it would almost seem that he had selected it for Claire Benedict's special benefit. It was not what had been done, or was being done, that he desired to impress, but rather what ought to be done. The earthly Jerusalem, instead of being one particular church building, was any church of Christ where a Christian's lot was cast, even for a single Sabbath. He or she was bound by solemn covenant vows to do all for that church which lay in his or her power; as fully, as unreservedly, as though that church, and that alone, represented his or her visible connection with the great Head. What solemn words were these, breaking in on the flimsy walls of exclusiveness which this young disciple had been busy all the afternoon building up about her! The church at South Plains her place of service! actually bound to it by the terms of her covenant! Others had their message from that plainly-worded, intensely-earnest sermon. I have no doubt there was a special crumb for each listener--it is a peculiarity belonging to any real breaking of the bread of life--but Claire Benedict busied herself with none of them. Her roused and startled heart had enough to do to digest the solid food that was given as her portion. The truth was made very plain to her that she had no more right to build a shell and creep into it, and declare that this church, and this choir, and this Sunday-school, and this prayer-meeting, yes, and even this smoking stove and wheezing organ, were nothing to her because she was to stay in South Plains but a few months, and her home was far away in the city, than she had to say that she had nothing to do with the people or the places on this earth, no sense or responsibility concerning them, no duties connected with them, because she was to be here only for a few years and her home was in heaven. Gradually this keen-edged truth seemed to penetrate every fibre of her being. This very church, cobweb-trimmed, musty-smelling, was for the time being her individual working ground, to be preferred above her chief joy! Nay, the very red curtain that swayed back and forth, blown by the north wind which found its way through a hole in the window, and which she _hated_, became a faded bit of individual property for which she was, in a sense, responsible. She walked home almost in silence. The girls about her chattered of the sermon; pronounced it splendid, and admitted that they would just a little rather hear Uncle Eben preach than anybody else, and it was no wonder that his people almost worshiped him, and had raised his salary only last month. Claire listened, or appeared to, and answered directly put questions with some show of knowledge as to what was being discussed; but for herself, Dr. Ansted had gone out of her thoughts. She liked his voice, and his manner, and his elocution, but the force behind all these had put them all aside, and the words which repeated themselves to her soul were these: "If I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy!" What then? Why, then I am false to my covenant vows, and the possibilities are that I am none of His. Mrs. Foster was in the hall when the party from the church arrived. Wide open as to eyes and mental vision, quiet as to voice and manner, she had staid at home and ministered to the victim of sick headache. She had been tender and low-voiced, and deft-handed, and untiring; but during the lulls when there had been comparative quiet, she had bowed her head and prayed that the sad-hearted young music-teacher might meet Christ in his temple that evening, and come home up-lifted. She did not know how it was to be done. She knew nothing about the Ansted uncle save that he was an ambassador of Christ, and she knew that the Lord _could_ use the shabbily-dressed ambassador of the morning as well as he; she did not rely on the instruments, except as they lay in the hand of God. She did not ask for any special thought to be given to Claire Benedict; faith left that, too, in the hand of the Lord. She only asked that she should be ministered unto, and strengthened for the work, whatever it was that he desired of her. And she needed not to question, to discover that her prayer, while she had yet been speaking, was answered. The music-teacher did not bring home the same thoughts that she had taken away with her. She went swiftly to her room. The fire had been remembered, and was burning brightly. The first thing she did was to feed its glowing coals with the letter that had been commenced to mamma and Dora during the afternoon. Not that there had been anything in it about her heaped-up sorrows, or her miserable surroundings, or her gloomy resolves, but in the light of the present revelation she did not like the tone of it. She went to her knees, presently, but it would have been noticeable there that she said almost nothing about resolves, or failures. Her uttered words were brief; were, indeed, only these: "Dear Christ, it is true I needed less of self and more of thee. Myself has failed me utterly; Jesus, I come to thee." CHAPTER VII. "OUR CHURCH." THE dreary weather was not gone by the next morning. A keen wind was blowing, and ominous flakes of snow were fluttering their signals in the air; but the music-room was warm, and the music-teacher herself had gotten above the weather. She was at the piano, waiting for the bell to ring that should give the signal for morning prayers. Around the stove were gathered a group of girls who had hushed their voices at her entrance. They were afraid of the pale music-teacher. Hitherto they had regarded her with mingled feelings of awe and dislike. Her very dress, plain black though it was, with its exquisite fit and finish, seemed to mark her as belonging to another world than themselves. They expected to learn music of her, but they expected nothing else. It was therefore with a visible start of surprise that they received her first advances in the shape of a question, as she suddenly wheeled on the piano-stool and confronted them: "Girls, don't you think our church is just dreadful?" Whether it was a delicate tact, or a sweet spirit born of the last evening's experience, that led Claire Benedict to introduce that potent little "our" into her sentence, I will leave you to judge. It had a curious effect on the girls around the stove. These bright-faced, keen-brained, thoroughly-good girls, who had lived all their lives in a different atmosphere from hers. They were good scholars in algebra, they were making creditable progress in Latin, and some of them were doing fairly well in music; but they could no more set their hats on their heads with the nameless grace which hovered around Claire Benedict's plainly-trimmed plush one, than they could fly through the air. This is just one illustration of the many differences between them. This young lady had lived all her days in the environments of city culture; they had caught glimpses of city life, and it meant to them an unattainable fairy-land, full of lovely opportunities and probabilities, such as would never come to them. It struck every one of those girls as a peculiarly pleasant thing that their lovely music-teacher had said "our" instead of "your." One of the less timid presently rallied sufficiently to make answer: "Dreadful? It is just perfectly horrid! It fairly gives me the blues to go to church. Girls, mother has almost spoiled her new cashmere sweeping the church floor with it. She says she would be ashamed to have our wood-shed look as badly as that floor does. I don't see why the trustees allow such slovenliness." "It is because we can not afford to pay a decent sexton," sighed one of the others. "We are so awful poor! That is the cry you always hear if there is a thing said. I don't believe we deserve a church at all." Claire had partially turned back to the piano, and she touched the keys softly, recalling a long-forgotten strain about "Girding on the armor," before she produced her next startling sentence. "Girls, let us dress up that church until it doesn't know itself." If the first words had astonished them, this suggestion for a moment struck them dumb. They looked at one another, then at the resolute face of the musician. Then one of them gasped out: "Us girls?" "You don't mean it!" from two dismayed voices. "How could we do anything?" from a gentle timid one. "But the girl who had found courage to speak before, and to volunteer her opinion as to the disgraced church, sounded her reply on a different note: "When?" "Right away," said the music teacher, smiling brightly on them all, but answering only the last speaker. Then she left the piano, and came over to the centre of the group, which parted to let her in. "Just as soon as we can, I mean. We must first secure the money; but I think we can work fast, with such a motive." Then came the chorus of discouragements: "Miss Benedict, you don't know South Plains. We never can raise this money in the world. It has been tried a dozen different times, and there are a dozen different parties, as sure as we try to do anything. Some people won't give toward the old church, because they want a new one. As if we could ever have a new church! Others think it is well enough as it is, if it could be swept now and then. And there is one woman who always goes to talking about the time she gave the most for that old rag of a carpet on the platform, and then they went and bought it at another store instead of at theirs, where they ought to, and for her part, she will never give another cent toward fixing up that church." Another voice chimed in: "Yes; and there is an old man who says honesty comes before benevolence. He seems to think it would be quite a benevolence to somebody to fix up that old rookery; and they owe him ten dollars for coal, and they will never prosper in the world until they pay him." "Is it true about the society owing him?" "No, ma'am; it isn't. Father says they paid him more than the coal was worth. He is an old scamp. But it is just a specimen of the way things go here; hundreds of reasons seem to pop up to hinder people from doing a thing; and all the old stories are raked up, and after awhile everybody gets mad with everybody else, and won't try to do anything. You never saw such a place as South Plains." But the music-teacher laughed. She was so sure of what ought to be done, and therefore, of course, of what could be done, that she could afford to laugh over the ludicrous side of this doleful story. The girls, however, did not see the ludicrous side. "It makes me cold all over, just thinking about trying to beg money in South Plains for anything; and for the church most of all!" To be sure this was Nettie Burdick's statement, and she was noted for timidity; but none of the bolder ones controverted her position. But Miss Benedict had another bomb-shell to throw into their midst. "Begging money is dreadful work, I suppose. I never did much of it. My collecting route lay among people who were pledged to give just so much, and who as fully expected to pay it when the collector called, as they expected to pay their gas bill or their city taxes. But don't let us think of doing any such thing. Let us raise the money right here among ourselves." Blank silence greeted her. Had she been able to look into their hearts, she would have seen something like this: Oh, yes! it is all very well for you to talk of raising money. Anybody can see by your dress, and your style, and everything, that you have plenty of it; but if you expect money from us, you don't know what you are talking about. The most of us have to work so hard, and coax so long to get decent things to wear, that we are almost tired of a dress or a bonnet before it is worn. But this they did not want to put into words. Neither did Miss Benedict wait for them. "We must earn it, of course, you know." "Earn it! How?" Half a dozen voices this time. "Oh, in a dozen ways," smiling brightly. "To begin with, there is voluntary contribution. Perhaps we can not all help in that way, but some of us can, and every little helps. My salary, for instance, is three hundred a year." She caught her breath as she said this, and paled a little. It was much less than Sydney Benedict had allowed his daughter for spending money; but to those girls it sounded like a little fortune. "That is twenty-five dollars a month, and a tenth of that is two dollars and a half. Now I propose to start this scheme by giving the 'tenths' of two months' salary. Come, Nettie, get your pencil, and be our secretary. We might as well put it in black and white, and make a beginning." "Do you always give a tenth of everything you have?" It was Nannie Howard's question, asked in a hesitating, thoughtful tone, while Nettie blushing and laughing, went into the depths of her pocket for a pencil, tore a fly-leaf from her algebra, and wrote Miss Benedict's name. "Always!" said the music-teacher, gently, her lip trembling and her voice quivering a little. "It was my father's rule. He taught it to me when I was a little, little girl." They could not know how pitiful it seemed to her that the daughter of the man who had given his annual thousands as tenths, had really to spend an hour in planning, so that she might see her way clear toward giving two dollars and a half a month! Not that this young Christian intended to wait until she could see her way clear. Her education had been, The tenth belongs to God. As much more as you can conscientiously spare, of course; but this is to be laid aside without question. Her education, built on the rock of Christian principle, had laid it aside as a matter of course, and then her human nature had lain awake and planned how to get along without it, and yet not draw on the sacred fund at the bank. "I suppose it is a good rule," Mary Burton said, "though I never thought of doing such a thing. Well," after another thoughtful pause, "I may as well begin, I suppose. I have a dollar a month to do what I like with. I'll give two dollars to the fund." "Good!" said Miss Benedict. "Why, girls, we have a splendid beginning." But Mary Burton was an exception; not another girl in the group had an allowance. A few minutes of total silence followed; then a new type of character came to the front. "Father gave me a dollar this morning to get me a new pair of gloves; but I suppose I can make the old ones do. I'll give that." "O, Kate! your gloves look just horrid." This from a younger sister. "I know they do, but I don't care," with a little laugh that belied the words; "so does the church." "That's true," said Anna Graves. "It gives one the horrors just to think of it. I gave up all hope of its being fixed, long ago, because I knew the men would never do it in the world; but if there is anything we can accomplish, let's do it. I say we try. I was going to trim my brown dress with velvet. It will cost two dollars. I'll give it up and trim with the same. Nettie Burdick, put me down for two dollars." This, or something else, set the two timid ones, who were sisters, to whispering; presently they nodded their heads in satisfaction. Whatever their plan was, they kept it to themselves. It undoubtedly included self-sacrifice, as they belonged to a family who honestly had but little from which to give, but they presently directed that their names be set down for a dollar each. Apparently, the crowning bit of sacrifice came from Ruth Jennings. "Father has been promising me a piano-stool for more than a year," she explained, laughing. "This morning he gave me the money, and I have a note written to Benny Brooks to bring it down with him next Saturday; but I do so dreadfully hate those red curtains, that if you will promise to do something with the windows the first thing, I'll sit on the dictionary and the Patent Office Reports for another year. A stool such as I was going to get, costs four dollars. Put it down, Nettie, quick!" A general clapping of hands ensued. Not a girl present but appreciated that to Ruth Jennings this was quite a sacrifice. As for Miss Benedict, her eyes were brimming. "You dear girls," she said, eagerly, "I feel as though I wanted to kiss every one of you. We will certainly have our church made over. I feel sure of it now. I think some of you must prefer it above your chief joy." This called forth a chorus of voices: "O, Miss Benedict, you don't think that velvet ribbons, and gloves, and such things, are our chief joys, do you?" "Or even piano-stools!" This from Ruth Jennings, amid much laughter. But Miss Benedict's face was grave. "Has the _church_ been?" She asked the question gently, yet in a sufficiently significant tone. The reply was prompt. "I should think not! Such a horrid old den as it is! How could there be any joy about it!" The words of the evening's text were repeating themselves so forcibly in their teacher's heart that she could not refrain from quoting: "Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy." The laughter was hushed. "But that doesn't mean the building, does it, Miss Benedict?" "The building is the outward sign of His presence, is it not? And suggests one of the ways in which we can show our love for the God to whose worship the church is dedicated?" As she spoke she wound an arm around the young girl's waist, and was answered, thoughtfully: "I suppose so. It seems wrong to talk about worshipping God in a place that is not even clean, doesn't it?" How familiar they were growing with their pretty young teacher, of whom they had thought, only the day before, that they should always be afraid. "Isn't she sweet?" This question they repeated one to another, as, in answer to the bell summoning them to morning prayers, they moved down the hall. "So quick-witted and so unselfish!" said a second. "And not a bit 'stuck up'!" declared a third. And with their brains throbbing with new ideas, they went in to prayers. They glanced at one another and smiled, when Mrs. Foster announced the hymn, Work, for the night is coming, Work through the morning hour. They every one meant to work. CHAPTER VIII. MAKING OPPORTUNITIES. THEN began a new era in the life of the girls at South Plains Academy. They had work to do. A common interest possessed them. They had a leader; such an one as they had never known before. She was capable of originating and guiding. She not only knew how to talk, but how to _do_. Committee meetings became the fashion of the day. No time now for loitering over lessons, no weary yawning behind the covers of wearisome text-books. Promptly at four o'clock was to be a meeting of importance. It would be "just horrid" to be detained in the recitation-room over an imperfectly-prepared lesson, while the others hastened to Miss Benedict's room, to be met with her questioning as to the where and why of the absent member. Mrs. Foster had never seen better work done than went on among her girls during the weeks that followed. There was need for committee meetings, and for almost endless discussions of ways and means. The voluntary offerings were all in, and though each had done her best, all knew that the sum total was meager enough. Money must certainly be earned, but the grave question was, How? "Oh, there are ways," declared Miss Benedict, with a confidence that of itself inspired courage. "Of course, there are a good many ways; and we must think them up. Earning money is never very easy business, and we must begin by understanding, that as a matter of course, there is work, and disagreeable work, of some sort, in store for each one of us." The girls, each and all, declared themselves ready for work, but totally in the dark. They knew how to save money, the most of them, provided they could get hold of any to save; but as for earning it, they really had never earned a cent in their lives. There had been no opportunity, so they declared. "We will make opportunities," announced the brave young leader, to whom money had hitherto flowed in an unbroken stream. But her courage was contagious, as true courage often is, and the girls laughed, and announced themselves as ready, even to _make_ opportunities, if somebody would show them how. "Let me see," said Miss Benedict; her head dropped a little to one side, her chin resting on her hand in the attitude that she used to assume, when Dora said she was planning a house and lot for some protégé. "To begin with, there are things to be sold by agencies." Two or three girls gravely shook their heads; one shrugged her shoulders as an evidence of dismay, not to say disgust, and Ruth Jennings spoke: "Book agents! We can't do it, Miss Benedict. There are not three people in South Plains who ever think of buying a book. One of the creatures canvassed the whole town last summer; was in every house within three miles, and she sold just four books. A good book it was, too; but the people who had money to spare didn't want it, and the people who wanted it hadn't the money. I was never more sorry for anybody in my life than I was for that poor girl, who wore out a pair of shoes and a pair of gloves, and spoiled her bonnet, to say nothing of her temper. And she was voted the greatest nuisance we ever had in this village, and that is saying a great deal." Miss Benedict laughed merrily. Ruth's voluble tongue always amused her. "I don't mean books," she explained. "There are other things; for instance, hair-pins." The sentence closed with a little laugh, and seemed to be suggested by the dropping of one of the gleaming things at that moment from her hair; but there was that in her voice which made the girls think there was a real suggestion hidden in it, though they could not see how. "Hair-pins!" repeated Ruth, in puzzled tone. "Yes: really and truly, not metaphorically. I bought some last night at the store in the village; the best, the clerk gravely assured me, that were to be had. Wretched things! I wore one for an hour, then threw it in the stove; it seemed to me that it pulled each hair of my head during that one hour. Look at the kind we ought to have!" Whereupon she drew the gleaming thing out again, and passed it around for minute scrutiny. "Blued steel, they are, you see; that is the trade mark; each one is finished to a high degree of smoothness. One who has used a single paper of them could not be persuaded to content herself with any other kind. Cheap they are, too. Actually cheaper than those instruments of torture I bought last night. I sent to my sister by the morning mail, to send me a box forthwith. That suggested the business to me, I presume. There are worthless imitations, but the genuine sort can be bought by the quantity very cheaply indeed, and a respectable profit might be made on them until the people were supplied. It isn't as though we were at work in a city, where women could supply themselves without any trouble. It is a work of genuine mercy, I think, to rescue the ladies from those prongs to which they have to submit." "Turn hair-pin pedlers!" said Mary Burton. There was a laugh on her face, but the slightest upward curve to her pretty lip. Mary felt above the suggestion. Her father was a farmer, decidedly well-to-do, and owned and lived in one of the prettiest places about South Plains. "Yes," said the millionnaire's daughter, who had lived all her life in a palatial home such as Mary Burton could not even imagine, "pedlers, if you like the name; why not? It is a good, honest business, if one keeps good stock, and sells at honest prices. "I like it very much better than selling cake, and flowers, and nuts, and candy, in the church, at wicked prices, in the name of benevolence." There was a general laugh over this hint. South Plains had had its day at such work as this, and those girls knew just how "wicked" the prices were, and how questionable the ways which had been resorted to in order to secure customers. "I'd as soon sell hair-pins as anything else," affirmed Ruth Jennings. "I would like some of them myself; we always get wretched ones down at the corner store. But, Miss Benedict, do you believe much could be made just out of hair-pins?" "Not out of hair-pins alone; but there are other things, plenty of them; little conveniences, you know, that people do not think of, until they are brought to their doors, and that are so cheap, it seems a pity not to buy them, if only for the sake of getting pleasantly rid of a nuisance." This with a merry glance at Ruth. "For instance, there are some charming little calendar cards being gotten up for the holiday sales, on purpose for the children. They are mounted on an easel, and contain a Bible verse for every day in the year, with a bit of a quotation from some good author, in verse, you know; exquisite little selections, just suited to children; on each Sabbath the card contains the Golden Text of the Sabbath-school lesson. They are just as pretty as possible, and retail for twenty cents. I don't believe there are many mothers who could resist the temptation of buying one for their children. But useful things, viewed from a practical standpoint, sell the best. I have always heard that the country was the place to get pies, and custards, and all such good things?" "It is," said one of the girls, with a confident nod of her head. "This is the greatest place for pies you ever saw! I know people who have a pie of some sort for breakfast, dinner and supper. No use in trying to start a bakery here. People all make their own, and plenty of it." Miss Benedict looked her satisfaction. "Then there are plenty of burnt fingers, I am sure. Nettie, my dear, you said you helped your mother on Saturday, which I suppose is baking-day. How many times have you blistered your poor little fingers trying to lift out a hot and heavy pie from the oven?" "More times than I should think of trying to count; and, for that matter, I have done a great deal worse than to burn my fingers. Only last Saturday I tipped a pumpkin pie upside down on the floor; mother's clean floor, it had just been mopped. The tin was hot, you see, and the cloth slipped somehow, so that my bare fingers came right on the hottest part, and I just squealed, and dropped the whole thing. Oh, such a mess!" "Precisely," said Miss Benedict, looking unsympathetically pleased with the story. "I have no doubt that we should find quite a noble army of martyrs among you in that very line, or among your mothers; you girls would be more likely to 'squeal and drop it,' as Nettie has said. But now I want to know what is to hinder us from being benefactors to our race, and earning an honest penny in the bargain, by sending for a box full of pie-lifters, and offering one to every housekeeper in South Plains? They are cheap, and I don't believe many pie-bakers would refuse one." "Pie-lifters!" "I never heard of such an institution." "What in the world are they?" Three questioning voices. "Oh, just ingenious little pieces of iron, so contrived that they will open and shut like an old-fashioned pair of tongs, only much more gracefully; they adjust themselves to the size of the tin, or plate, and close firmly, so that even a novice can lift the hottest pumpkin pie that ever bubbled, and set it with composure and complacency on the table at her leisure." "I should think they would be splendid!" This, in varying phraseology, was the general vote. "Then I'll tell you of one of the greatest nuisances out. Look here! Did you ever see a more starched-up linen cuff than this is?" The girls looked admiringly. No; they never did. It shone with a lovely polish, the means of securing which was unknown to the most domestic of them. "Well," explained Miss Benedict, "it isn't linen at all. By the way, I am trying to economize in laundry work. It is nothing but paper, but with such a good linen finish that nobody ever discovers it, and they answer every purpose. I find they don't keep them at the corner store, and your young gentleman friends would like them, I am sure. They can be had at the factory very reasonably, indeed. I shouldn't wonder if we would better invest in some. But that was not what I started out to say. When you get a pair of cuffs nicely laundried, so that they are stiff and shining, how do you enjoy struggling with them to get the cuff button in, or to get it out--especially if you are in a hurry?" This query produced much merriment among two of the girls, which the elder sister presently explained: "You ought to ask that question of our brother Dick. He does have the most trying times with his cuff buttons. He wants his cuffs so stiff they can almost walk alone, and then he fusses and struggles to get the buttons in so as not to break the cuff. He is just at the age, Miss Benedict, to be very particular about such things, and sometimes he gets into such a rage. Last Sunday he split one of his buttons in half a dozen pieces tugging at it. I tried to help him, but I couldn't get the thing in; they are a dreadful nuisance." "Ah, but look at this." A sudden, dexterous movement, and the button was standing perpendicularly across the button-hole, and could be slipped in or out with perfect ease. The girls looked and admired and exclaimed. They had never seen such a contrivance. "But they are very expensive, are they not?" This question came from the ever-practical Ruth. Miss Benedict readjusted her cuff with a sudden quivering of the lip, as a rush of memories swept over her. Those heavy gold cuff buttons, with their rare and delicate designs, had been among her father's gifts, less than a year ago. "These are rather so," she said presently, struggling to keep her voice steady, "but the device for opening and shutting is introduced into plain buttons, which can be had for twenty-five cents a set; and I think they are a great comfort especially to young men." This is only a hint of the talk. It was continued at several meetings, and plans at last were perfected, and orders made out and sent to the city for a dozen or more useful articles, none of them bulky, all of them cheap. The arrangement was, that each young lady should take her share of the articles, keep her individual account, and thenceforth go armed; hair-pins and cuff buttons in her pocket, ready, as opportunity offered, to suggest to a friend the advisability of making a desirable purchase. If she went to a neighbor's of an errand, she was in duty bound to take a pie-lifter under her shawl, and describe its merits. Did she meet a reasonably-indulgent mother, out were to come the pretty calendar cards, and the agent thereof was to hold herself prepared to descant eloquently on their beauties. Thus, through the whole stock in trade. As for the "nuisance" part, of course it would be a good deal of a nuisance, and a good deal of a cross; especially when they met with surly people who did not even know how to _refuse_ politely. But as workers enlisted for the war, they were to be ready to bear such crosses, always endeavoring to carry on their work on strictly business principles; to descend to no urging or unlady-like pressure, but simply to courteously offer their goods at honest prices; if, after such effort, they received replies that were hard to bear, they must just bear them for the sake of the cause. Thus decreed the heroic leader; adding, by way of emphasis, that all ways of earning money had their unpleasant side she supposed, and all workers had moments in which their work could only be looked upon in the light of a cross. _Would_ those girls ever know what a cross it had been to her, Claire Benedict, to come to South Plains and teach them music? This part she _thought_. Such crosses were not to be brought out to be talked about. Hers was connected with such a heavy one, that it would bear mentioning only to Him who "carried her sorrows." CHAPTER IX. OUTSIDE THE CIRCLE. "WHY are not the Ansted girls included among our workers?" It was the music-teacher who asked this question, as she waited in the music-room for recess to close, and her work to begin. Around the stove gathered the usual group of girls, talking eagerly. An absorbing topic had been opened before them, one with unending resources. Ruth Jennings had had unprecedented success, the Saturday before, disposing of pie-lifters. She was detailing some of her curious experiences. Also she had received an order for a certain kind of egg-beater, the like of which had never been seen in South Plains. She had duly reported the mysteriously-described thing to Miss Benedict, who had at once recognized it, and sent her order out by the morning mail--not for one, but two dozen. Why should not other families in South Plains beat eggs in comfort? It was strange that she had not thought of those nice little egg-beaters. This and a dozen other matters of interest were being repeated and discussed, the lady at the piano being constantly appealed to for information, or to confirm some surprising statement. During a momentary lull in the talk, she asked her question. Ruth Jennings answered: "Oh, the Ansted girls! Why, Miss Benedict, is it possible that you have not discovered that they belong to a higher sphere? Dear me! They have nothing to do with South Plains, except to tolerate it during a few months of the summer because the old homestead is here, and they can't very well move it to the city. They live in that lovely place at the top of Curve Hill. You have been up there, haven't you? It is the only really lovely spot in South Plains. In summer their grounds are just elegant!" Yes, Miss Benedict had been in that direction, and every other. She rested herself, body and soul, by long, brisk, lonely walks. She had noticed the place and wondered over it, and had meant to ask its history. So unlike every other spot in the withered village. Great broad fields stretching into the distance; handsome iron fence, with massive gate-posts, guarded by fierce-looking dogs in iron; a trellised arbor, the outline of a croquet-ground; a hint of wide-spreading, carefully kept lawns, showing between patches of the snow; a summerhouse that in the season of vines and blossoms must be lovely; a circle that suggested an artificial pond, centred with a fountain, where she could imagine the water playing rainbows with the sunshine in the long summer days. And in short, there were all about this place very unmistakable tokens of the sort of refinement which is only to be secured by a full purse and an abundance of elegant leisure on the part of some one whose tastes are cultured to the highest degree. Shrouded in the snows of midwinter, with a shut-up look about the large, old-fashioned, roomy house, kept in a state of perfect repair, yet kept carefully for what it was, a country home, the place was marked and exceptional. It spoke a language that could be found nowhere else, in the village or out of it for miles around. Miss Benedict had looked upon it with loving eyes. It spoke to her of the world from which she had come away; of the sort of life which had always heretofore been hers. It did not look elegant to her, except by contrast with the surrounding shabbiness. She had been used to much greater elegance. It simply said "home" to her sad heart; and only the Saturday before, she had wondered whose home it was, and why she never saw people who seemed to match it, and when it would be opened again for residence, and whether she should ever get a chance to visit that lovely greenhouse, all aglow even now. It came to her as a surprise that it really was the home of two of her pupils. "Do you mean that the Ansteds _live_ there?" she questioned. "Where is the family? and why are the girls here?" "Oh, the family are everywhere. They scatter in the winter like the birds. Go South, you know, or West, or wherever suits their royal fancy. They have no home but this, because they can not make up their minds where to settle down for one, so they board all over the world. Do business in the city, live in South Plains, and stay in Europe; that is about their history." "And the girls remain here while their parents are away?" "Part of the time, yes'm. Mrs. Ansted was a schoolmate of Mrs. Foster, I have heard, and respects her very highly, and would prefer having the girls with her to sending them anywhere else. Mr. Ansted is a merchant in the city. In the summer he comes out home every night, and some of them stay in town with him a great deal. It is only ten miles away, you know. If they did not charge so dreadfully on the new railroad, we might get a chance to look at its splendors once in a while ourselves; but the Ansteds don't care for high prices. Mr. Ansted is one of the directors, and I suppose they ride for nothing, just because they could afford to pay eighty cents a day as well as not. That seems to be the way things work." "But the family attend this church, of course, while they are here. I should think the girls would be interested to join us." "Oh, no, ma'am; indeed, they don't. They haven't been inside the church six times in as many years. They go to town." "Not to church!" "Yes'm; they do. Every pleasant day their carriage rolls by our house about half-past eight, and makes me feel cross and envious all day." "But do you really mean that they habitually go ten miles to church each Sabbath, when there is one right at their doors that they might attend? What denomination are they?" "The very same as our own," the girl said, laughing over Miss Benedict's astonished face. Then the gentle Nettie added her explanation: "Well, but, girls, you know they don't really go _ten_ miles. There is an elegant church, Miss Benedict, just about seven, or maybe almost eight, miles from here. It was built by wealthy people who live out there in the suburbs, and it is said to be the prettiest church in town, and the Ansteds go to that." "But eight miles every Sabbath, and return, must make a busy and wearying day of the Sabbath, I should think, when there is no occasion. How came they to fall into the habit of going so far?" "Why, they did not use to spend their summers here; only a few weeks during August. They had a house in town, and then Mrs. Ansted was sick, and the doctors said she could not live in the city, and they had a little delicate baby, who they said would die unless they kept it in the country. So, they sold their town house, and came out here to stay until they decided what to do, and then the railroad was built, and Mr. Ansted found it easy enough to get back and forth to his business, and the baby began to grow strong, and they spent a great deal of money on the place, and grew to liking it, and they just stay on. They keep rooms in town, and are there a great deal, but they really live in South Plains." "And drive to church every Sabbath!" "Well, every Sabbath when it is pleasant. They are not very regular. When it is too warm to go, they lounge under the trees, and when it is too rainy they lounge in their handsome house, I suppose. At any rate, they don't appear in our church. We don't see much more of them when they are at home than when they are in Europe, only riding by." "And do the girls like to be here at school while the family is away?" "Well, that is a new thing, you see. Mrs. Foster has only been here since September. Before that, they never looked at our school; but directly they heard she was coming, the Ansted girls came in, and are to board here until the family come back from Florida. We never any of us spoke to Fannie and Ella Ansted in our lives until they appeared here in October." Then Mary Burton spoke: "And we shall not get a chance to speak with their highnesses much longer. The Ansteds are coming home in two weeks. Lilian, that's the baby, has had a low fever, and the doctors have decided that she needs to come home and get braced up, and the house is being aired for their coming. Ella Ansted told me this morning. She says she and Fannie will only be here at recitations after next week or week after. She doesn't know just when the folks will get here, they are going to stop in New York." "Girls," said the music-teacher in her most resolute tone, "let us get the Ansted girls into our circle, and set them at work for the church." But this met with eager demurs. The Ansteds held themselves aloof from South Plains. They never made calls among the people, or invited them to their home, or noticed them in any way. They had nothing to do with the poor little church; never came to the prayer meetings, nor to the socials, nor in any way indicated that they belonged to the same flesh and blood as the worshipers there, and South Plains held its head too high and thought too much of itself to run after them. The girls were well enough, Fannie and Ella, and they had been pleasant to them; but as for stooping to coax them to help, they did not feel that they could do it, even for Miss Benedict. "I don't want you to stoop," declared Miss Benedict, "nor to coax. I want you to give them a good hearty invitation to join us. Poor things! I am just as sorry for them as I can be! Eight miles away from their church and all church friends; no prayer meeting to attend, and no pastor to interest himself in all they do! I have wondered why those girls seemed so out in the cold. I begin to understand it. You think you have been cordial; but you have just edged out a little, made a tiny opening in your circle, and said in effect: 'Oh, you may come in, if you will crawl in there! We will tolerate you while you are here, if you won't expect too much, nor ask us to invite you to our special doings of any sort. You are just outsiders, and we are not going to stoop to you, and let you be one with us.'" The girls laughed a little, but Ruth Jennings demurred. Nobody had wanted them to stay outside; they had chosen to do so. They would not attend the church, though the trustees had invited Mr. Ansted, and they never showed in any way an interest in South Plains or its people. Miss Benedict changed her tactics: "Girls, wait; let me ask you, are Fannie and Ella Ansted Christians?" "Not that I ever heard of," Ruth said, and Mary Burton added that she knew they were not; that one day when they were talking about such things, Ella asked the strangest questions, almost as though she were a heathen; and Fannie did not seem to know much better. "Well, have you made them realize that you young people belong to Christ, and that it is a pleasant way, and you would like to have them join it, and work for his cause? Ruth, my dear, do they know that you desire to have them happy in Christ, and that you pray for this every day?" "It isn't likely they do, Miss Benedict, for it isn't true. I never thought about them twice in my life in that connection, and I know I never prayed for them." "And are there any of you who can give a better record than that?" She looked around upon the silenced group, and waited in vain for an answer. At last she said, gently: "Now, girls, there are only two questions more that I want to ask you. One is: Which is it that stands aloof, and makes no effort to help others, you or the Ansted girls, if you know Christ and they do not? And the other is: Will you all agree to invite them to join us, and do it heartily?" The pealing bell cut short an answer, if one had been intended. Miss Benedict was glad. She wanted no answer just then; she had planted her little seed, and hoped that it would take root and grow. "She has a way of taking things for granted," said one of the group which moved out of the music-room, leaving Nettie to take her lesson. "How does she know that any of us are Christians?" There was a moment's silence, then Mary Burton asked: "Do you really suppose there is no difference between us and others? Can't we be told in any way?" "I'm sure I don't know how. There hasn't been a communion service since she came here, and we don't any of us go to prayer meeting. They say she does. Father said she sat in one corner of that dark old church the other night; the first woman there, and not many came afterward." Said Mary Burton: "I wonder what it means, any way, to come out from among them and be separate? I came across that verse in my reading the other night, and I wondered, then, just what it meant. We girls are certainly not any more 'separate' since we joined the church than we were before, so far as I know; and yet the verse some way made me think of Miss Benedict; she seems different from other Christians. I should like to know just what made the difference?" "She is 'gooder,'" said Ruth Jennings, laughing a little, "that is just the whole of it; but I wish she hadn't started out on this idea about the Ansteds. They won't join us, and I don't want to feel myself humiliated by asking them." But Nettie, usually easy to be turned aside, held persistently to the thought which troubled her. "I know she is 'gooder,' that is what I say; but ought not we to be the same? Ought the boys and girls with whom we five spend so much time, to feel that we just belong to their set, and are in no sense different from them? We are all the church-members there are among the young people, you know. When I told Miss Benedict that the other day, she looked astonished for a minute, and then she said: 'You dear girls, what a work you have to do!' But I don't feel as though we were doing it, and I, for one, don't know how; but I wish I did." There was no answer to that. The little seed was taking root, though not in the way that the planter had planned. CHAPTER X. AN OPEN DOOR. THEREAFTER Miss Benedict thought much about the Ansteds. She herself could hardly have told why they interested her so much, though she attributed it to the fact that the surroundings of the old house spoke to her of home. The family returned and established themselves there, and the blinds were thrown open, and through the half-drawn shades, as she took her after-school walks, she could see glimpses of bright, beautiful life inside; she longed to get nearer, and saw no way to accomplish it. The Ansted girls had been invited to join the workers. Miss Benedict's influence reached as far as this, though that lady wished she had been sure that the invitation had sounded cordial and hearty. But they had hesitated and hesitated, and proposed to talk with mamma about it, and mamma was reported to have said that it was hardly worth while; they were such entire strangers to the church and the people that of course they could not be expected to have the interest in it which others had; and the girls had tossed their heads and said they knew it would be just so, they were sorry they had invited them, and they would not be caught that way again, not even for Miss Benedict. Meantime, Miss Benedict studied the Ansteds from a distance, and tried to understand the reasons for their utter isolation from the good people of the village. She cultivated the friendship of the two girls who were her pupils, and who, now that they had declined the invitation to join the others, were more shut off from them than before. Miss Benedict took care, however, not to refer to this episode; there were reasons why she did not desire to know the particulars. But she made herself as winning as she could to the girls, and wondered how and when she could reach their home. As is often the case, the way opened unexpectedly. It was a wintry evening, and she, having walked further than she had intended, was making the return trip with all speed, lest the darkness fast closing on the village, should envelop her before she reached the academy. "How foolish I was," she told herself, "to go so far! I must have walked two miles, and it is beginning to snow. What would mamma think to see me on the dark street alone?" In common with most city-bred ladies, accustomed to treading the brightly-lighted city streets with indifference, she looked upon the darkness and silence of the country with a sort of terror, and was making swift strides, not pausing even to get the glimpse of "home" which shone out broadly across the snow from all the front windows of the house on Curve Hill. It looked very home-like, but her only home was that plain, little upper room, at the academy, and thither she must go with all speed. Underneath the freshly-falling snow lay a treacherous block of ice, and as the hurrying feet touched it, they slipped from their owner's control, and she was lying a limp heap at the foot of Curve Hill. No use to try to rise and hasten on. A very slight effort in that direction told her that one ankle was useless. What was to be done? She looked up and down the street; not a person was to be seen in either direction. Would it be of any use to call through this rising wind for assistance? How plainly she could see the forms flitting about that bright room! yet they might as well be miles away, so far as her power to reach them was concerned. She made a second effort to rise, and fell back with a groan; it was best not to attempt that again, or she should faint, and certainly she had need of her senses now. If only one of those queer-looking wood-sleighs, over which she had laughed only this afternoon, would come along and pick her up, how grateful she would be! Somebody else was coming to pick her up. "What have we here?" said a brisk voice. "Fallen humanity? plenty of that to be found. What is the immediate cause?" Then in a lower tone: "I believe it is a woman!" By this time he had reached her side, a young man, prepared to make merry over the fallen fortunes of some child; so he had evidently at first supposed. "I beg pardon, ma'am," he said, and even at that moment he waited to lift his hat, "did you fall? Are you injured? How can I best help you?" Claire Benedict of old had one peculiarity which had often vexed her more nervous young sister: under embarrassing or trying circumstances of any sort, where the average young woman would be likely to cry, she was nearly certain to laugh. It was just what she did at this moment. "I think I have sprained my ankle," she said between her laughs; "at least, it will not allow me to move without growing faint, so I am keeping still; I thought I needed my senses just now. If you can think of any way of securing a wagon of some sort in which I can ride to the academy, it will help me materially." "To the academy! Why, that is a mile away! You must take a shorter ride than that for the first one. You can not be very heavy, I should say. Allow me." And before she understood what he was planning sufficiently to attempt a protest, he had stooped and unceremoniously picked her up, and was taking swift strides across the snow-covered lawn to the side piazza of the Ansted house. The gate leading to the carriage-drive was thrown open, so there had been no obstacle in his way. It was ridiculous to laugh under such circumstances, but this was just what Claire did, while her porter threw open the door, strode through the wide hall, and dropped her among the cushions of a luxurious couch, in one of the bright rooms. "Here is a maimed lady," he said. "Mamma, Alice, where are some of you?" "Oh, Louis!" said a familiar voice, "what's the matter? Did you run over her? Why, Fannie, it is Miss Benedict! Mamma! Louis, call mamma, quick!" And then Claire really accomplished what she had so often threatened, and fainted entirely away. "It is only a sprain," she explained, directly her eyes were open again; "I was very foolish to faint." A pleasant, motherly face was bending over her, with eyes like Ella and hair like Fannie; this must be the mother. "Is it a sprain, do you think?" she asked, "or only a sort of twist? Those things are sometimes very painful for awhile. We have sent for a physician, and shall soon know what to do for you. In the meantime, Fannie, my dear, her boot should be removed." Thus reminded, Fannie bent with eager fingers over the injured member. "Did you fall, Miss Benedict? Wasn't it too bad? But since you were going to fall, I am glad you did it right by our gate." "Mamma, do you know? This is our music-teacher." "So I judged, daughter. We are sorry to make her acquaintance in this manner, and glad to be of service. Bring another pillow, Ella." It was all gracefully and graciously said. Mrs. Ansted was not a woman who would have thought of seeking out, and calling in a friendly way on her daughter's music-teacher; but she was one who, when that music-teacher appeared at her door in need of assistance, could bestow it heartily and delicately. "She is not like mamma in the least--oh, not in any particular--and yet I think she means to be a good woman, so far as she sees the way to it out of the environments of her world. I wonder if there is any way in which I am to help her, and if this is a beginning?" This was the mental comment of the music-teacher, who was supposed to be absorbed in her own troubles. It all arranged itself speedily and naturally. The doctor came and pronounced the ankle badly sprained, advised entire quiet for a few days, heartily seconded Mrs. Ansted's suggestion that the prisoner should remain with them, and when Claire faintly demurred, that lady said, decidedly: "Why, of course, it will be the proper thing to do. It is not as though you were at home. The academy is at best, a poor place in which to secure quiet, and there is no occasion for submitting to the discomfort of getting there. This is decidedly the place for you. Since it was the treacherous ice on our walk that brought you to grief, you must allow us to make what amends we can. I will send word to Mrs. Foster at once." Claire yielded gracefully; in truth, she was rather anxious to do so. She was interested in the Ansteds. She had been wondering how she could make their acquaintance, and interest them in matters that she believed required their aid. She had been doing more than wondering. Only this morning, thinking of the subject, as she locked her door for prayer, she had carried it to Christ, and asked him for opportunities, if indeed he meant that she was to work in this direction. What a signal opportunity! Certainly not of her planning. She must take care how she closed the door on it. Behold her, then, an hour later, domiciled in one of the guest chambers of the beautiful old home, where every touch of taste and refinement, yes, and luxury, soothed her heart like a breath from home. This was the home to which she had heretofore been accustomed. More elegant her own had been, it is true, but the same disregard to money that had characterized the belongings of her father's house were apparent here; everything spoke of a full purse and a cultured taste. It was very foolish, but Claire could not help a little sigh of satisfaction over the delicacy of the curtains and the fineness of the bed draperies. Had she really missed things of that sort so much? she asked herself. Yes, she had! her truthful heart responded. She liked all soft and fair and pretty things; but, after all, the main reason for their soothing influence now was that they said "home" and "mother" to her. Laid aside thus suddenly from her regular line of work, the morning found her, dressed, and lying on the fawn-colored couch in her pretty room, considering what there was to do that day. She had already feasted royally; the delicate breakfast that had been sent up to her was served on rare old china, and accompanied with the finest of damask and the brightest of solid silver. They commented on her in the dining-room below after this fashion: "Poor creature, I suppose she thinks she has dropped into fairy-land. She looks as though she could appreciate the little refinements of life. I quite enjoyed sending her that quaint old cream cup. I fancy she has taste enough to admire it." This from the mother. Then Alice: "Mamma, are not such things a sort of cruel kindness? Think of going back to the thick dishes and cheap knives of the academy after being served in state for a few days!" "I know, dear; but we can not help that part. She will probably not remain long enough to get spoiled. She is really quite interesting. I wonder if she has seen better days?" How would Claire have answered this question? "Fairyland?" yes, it was something of that to her, but she was like a fairy who had been astray in a new world, and had reached home again. The silver might be choice, but she had seen as choice, and the china might have been handed down for generations, yet the style of it and the feel of it were quite familiar to her. Dainty and delicate things had been every-day matters in her father's house. "Different" days she had seen, oh, very different; yet this young girl, so suddenly stranded on what looked like a rough shore, was already beginning to question whether, after all, these were not her "better days." Had she ever before leaned her heart on Christ as she was learning now to do? Busy in his cause she had always been, eagerly busy, ever since she could remember; but she began to have a dim feeling that it was one thing to be busy in his cause, and quite another to walk with him, saying, as a child, "What next?" and taking up the "next" with a happy unquestioning as to the right of it. Something of this new experience was beginning to steal over her; there seemed to be less of Claire Benedict than ever before, but there was in her place one who was growing willing to be led, and Claire already felt that she would not be willing to take back the old Claire Benedict; she was growing attached to this new one. Before that day closed, the Ansteds had a revelation. It was Alice, the young lady daughter of the house, who had come up to show Mrs. Foster the way, and who lingered and chatted with the cheerful young prisoner after Mrs. Foster had taken her departure. She stooped for Claire's handkerchief, which had dropped, and said, as her eye fell on the name: "I know of a young lady who has your full name. That is singular, is it not? The name is not a common one." "Who is she?" asked Claire, interested. "Is she nice? Shall I immediately claim relationship?" "I am not in the least acquainted with her, though I fancy from what I have heard that she may be very 'nice.' She was pointed out to me once at a concert in Boston, by a gentleman who had some acquaintance with her. She is the daughter of Sidney L. Benedict, a millionnaire. I suppose you do not know of her, though she is a namesake. I heard more about her father perhaps than I did of her. Ever so many people seemed to admire him as a wonderful man; very benevolent, you know, and sort of hopelessly good, he seemed to me. I remember telling my brother Louis that it must be rather oppressive to have such a reputation for goodness to sustain. Were you ever in Boston?" The music-teacher was so long in answering, that Miss Alice turned toward her questioningly, and found that the eyes, but a moment, before so bright, were brimming with tears. "I beg your pardon," she said, sympathetically, "does your ankle pain you so badly? Something ought to be done for it. I will call mamma." But Claire's hand detained her. "It is not that," she said gently, and smiled. "I forgot my ankle, and where I was, and everything. He was a good man, Miss Ansted; good and true to the heart's core, and his goodness was not oppressive, it was his joy. He has gone now to wear his crown, and I am proud to be his daughter Claire. But oh, there are times when the longing to see him rolls over me so that it swallows every other thought." And then the poor little teacher buried her head in the lace-trimmed pillows and cried outright! "Mamma, what do you think! Louis, can you believe it possible? She is one of the Boston Benedicts! A daughter of that Sidney L. about whom we heard so much when we were with the Maitlands!" "I heard he had gone to smash!" said Louis, when the first astonishment was over, "but I thought he had done it fashionably, and provided handsomely for his family." CHAPTER XI. A "FANATIC." I DO not suppose people realize how much such things influence them. For instance, Alice Ansted was the sort of girl who would have been ashamed of herself had she realized how much more important a person Claire Benedict was to her as soon as it became known that she belonged to the Boston Benedicts. But the fact was very apparent to others, if not to Alice. She had been very glad, before this, to have Miss Benedict enjoy the comforts of the house, but now she hovered about her, and gave her crumbs of personal attention, and found a fascination in hearing her talk, and, in short, was interested in her to a degree that she could never have been simply in the poor music-teacher. She brought her work one morning, and sat by the luxurious chair where Claire had been imprisoned, with her injured foot skillfully arranged on a hassock. "How pretty it is," Claire said, watching the crimson silk flowers grow on the canvas under skillful fingers; "do you enjoy working on it?" The tone of voice which answered her was dissatisfied in the extreme: "Oh, I suppose so; as well as I enjoy anything that there is to do. One must employ one's self in some way, and we live such a humdrum life here that there is chance for very little variety. I am puzzled to know how you manage it, Miss Benedict; you have been accustomed to such different surroundings. This is a sharp enough contrast to Chester. Have you been in Chester yet, Miss Benedict? Well, it is just a nice little city; hardly large enough to be called a city. The society is good, and there is always something going on, and when I come out here I am at an utter loss what to do with myself. But then, Chester is very far from being Boston, and if I had had the advantages of Boston all my life, as you have, I feel sure I could not endure a month of South Plains. It is bad enough for me. How do you bear it?" Claire could only smile in answer to this. There were circumstances connected with her removal from Boston which were too keenly felt to touch with a careless hand. She hastened to ask questions. "What is there pleasant in Chester? I have promised myself to go there some Saturday, and see what I can find in the library." "Oh, there is a very fair library there, I believe, for a town of its size, but I never patronize it; we have books enough. By the way, Miss Benedict, you are welcome to the use of our library. Papa will be glad to have some one enjoying the books. The girls have as much as they can endure of books in school, and Louis is not literary in his tastes; I am almost the only reader. Mamma is so busy with various city benevolences that, what with her housekeeping and social cares, she rarely has time for much reading. Oh, Chester is well enough. There are concerts, you know, and lectures, or entertainments of some sort; one can keep busy there, if one accepts invitations. But, to tell you the truth, the whole thing often bores me beyond endurance, and I am glad to get out here to be away from it all. I don't like my life. I think I have talents for something better, if one could only find what it is--the something better, I mean." There was a pretty flush on her discontented face as she looked up eagerly to see how this confidence was being received. Claire's face was gently sympathetic, and grave. Alice took courage. "Mamma laughs at me, and says I am visionary, and that I want to have a career, and that I must be content to fill my sphere in life, as my ancestors have done before me; but really I am not content. I don't like the sort of life spread out before me for generations back; marrying, you know, and keeping up a handsome house, and receiving and paying visits, and giving a grand party once a year, when you are sure to offend somebody to whom you were indebted in some way, and whom you forgot. Now, do you see any particular enjoyment in that sort of thing?" "No," said Claire unhesitatingly, "I do not." "I'm real glad to hear you say so. Mamma thinks it is dreadful to be discontented with one's lot; but I am. I would like a career of some sort; anything that would absorb me. And yet I don't want to be poor. I should shrink from that. Do you really find it easier to get along with life, now that you have not time to think, as you used?" Another question to be gently put aside. What did this girl know of the charmed life which she had lived at home, and of the father who had been its centre? She could not go into the depths of her heart and drag out its memories, unless there were a very grave reason for so doing. "I have always lived a very busy life," she answered, evasively; "but before I can help you with any of my experiences, I must ask one question: Are you not a Christian, Miss Ansted?" Apparently it was an amazing question to the young girl. Her cheeks took a deeper flush; she let her canvas half drop from her hand, and fixed inquiring eyes on her questioner. "Why, yes; that is, I suppose I am, or hope I am, or something; I am a member of the church, if that is what you mean." "It is not in the least what I mean. That is only the outward sign--worthless, if it is not indeed a sign of union with Christ. Such a union as furnishes a career, Miss Ansted, which alone is worthy of you. Such a union as carries you captive--making your time and your money, and your talents, not your own, but his. There is nothing dissatisfying about such a life, my friend. It almost lifts one above the accident of outward surroundings." There was an undoubted amazement expressed on Miss Ansted's face now. "I don't in the least understand you," she said. "What has my being a member of the church to do with all this time which lies on my hands just now, I should like to know. If you mean mission bands and benevolent societies, and all that sort of thing, my tastes don't lie in that direction, in the least. Mamma does enough of that for the entire family; she always has some poky board meeting to attend. I have sat shivering in the carriage, and waited for her last words so many times, that I am utterly sick of the whole thing. Oh, I am a member, of course, and give money; that is all they want. But you are mistaken in supposing that these things help me in the least." "I don't think so," Claire said, unable to help smiling over the darkness which had so misunderstood and misinterpreted Christian work, and yet feeling that it called for tears rather than smiles; "these things are only more of the 'outward signs.'" They were interrupted then, and Claire was not sorry. She wanted to think over her ground. There was no use in casting these pearls of truth before Alice Ansted, she was too utterly in the dark to see them. A young lady she was, well educated, in the common acceptation of that term, accomplished, so far as music and French were concerned, skillful as regards embroidery and worsted work; but evidently the veriest child as regarded the Christian life, though she had been a member of the visible church for years. If she were to be helped at all, Claire must come down from the heights where she walked and meet her on some common ground. "I wonder how the old church would do?" she asked herself. "I wish I could get her interested in it, both for her sake and for the sake of the church." Had she heard the report given below of this brief conversation, she might have been discouraged, for she was but a young worker after all, and had not met with many rebuffs. "Mamma, she is a regular little fanatic," so Alice affirmed. "You ought to have heard her talk to me! It sounded just like quotations from that old book of sermons that grandma used to pore over. I didn't know what she meant." "Probably she did not either," was the comment of this Christian mother. "Some very young people occasionally fall into that style, talking heroics, using theological terms of which they can not grasp the meaning, and fancy it a higher type of religion. She will probably know both less and more as she grows older." Then was Miss Benedict's pupil, Ella, emboldened to come to the rescue of her teacher's reputation: "But, mamma, she is not so very young. I saw her birthday book, and the date made her twenty in September." "Indeed!" said Mrs. Ansted, with amused smile, "that is quite a patriarchal age. She certainly ought to be well posted in all theological dogmas by this time. My dear, it is one of the worst ages for a young woman--if she isn't absorbed with an engagement by that time to fancy herself superior." "Oh, mamma! you don't know Miss Benedict. She doesn't fancy herself superior to anybody. She is just as sweet and lovely as she can be. All the girls like her, and I think she has the nicest religion of anybody I know!" This outburst was from Fannie. "Very well, dear," answered the mother complacently; "admire her as much as you like. She is quite as safe a shrine as any for a young girl like you to worship at. You must always have some one. I am glad the girls like her, poor thing; her life must be doleful enough at best. It is certainly a great change." And the benevolent mother sighed in sympathy. She was glad to be able to put what she thought was a little sunshine from her elegant home into the poor music-teacher's lot. She even wondered, as she waited for her carriage to drive down town, whether the sprained ankle were not a providential arrangement to enable her to give a few days of rest and luxury to this unfortunate girl. This thought she kept quite to herself. She did not quite accept such strained and peculiar views of Providence. It savored a little of fanaticism--a thing which she disapproved, and Mr. Ansted disliked; but then, some people thought such things, and it was barely possible that they were sometimes correct. She went out to her carriage still thinking these thoughts, and Claire, watching her from the upper window, said to herself: "I wonder if I can help her? I wonder if God means me to? Of course, I am set down here for something." _She_ had no doubt at all about the providence in it. The son of the house had added one sentence to the family discussion: "You might have known that she would be a fanatic, after you found that she was Sydney Benedict's daughter. He was the wildest kind of a visionary. Porter was talking about him to-day. He knew them in Boston. He says Benedict gave away enough every year to support his family in splendid style. They are reaping the results of his extravagance." This is only one of the many different ways which there are of looking at things. Nevertheless the fair fanatic seemed to be an attractive object to the entire family. Louis, not hitherto particularly fond of evenings at home, found himself lingering in the up-stairs library, whither he had himself wheeled the large chair with the patient seated therein. As the days passed, she persisted in making herself useful, and Ella and Fannie, under her daily tuition, were making very marked progress in music, as well as in some other things that their mother did not understand about so well. It was on one of these cosey evenings that Louis occupied the piano-stool, he and Alice having been performing snatches of favorite duets, until Alice was summoned to the parlors. "Come down, won't you, Louis? that is a good boy. It is the Powell girls, and Dick will be with them, I presume." This had been Alice's petition just as she was leaving the room. But Louis had elevated both eyebrows and shoulders. "The Powell girls!" he repeated. "Not if this individual knows himself! I never inflict myself on the Powell girls, if there is any possibility of avoiding it; and as for Dick, I would go a square out of my way any time, to save boring him. Excuse me, please, Alice; I am not at home, or I _am_ at home, and indisposed--just as you please; the latter has the merit of truth. It is my duty to stay here and entertain Miss Benedict, since the girls have deserted her. "I have no doubt that you would excuse me with pleasure, but nevertheless I consider it my duty to stay!" This last was merrily added, just as Alice closed the door. Claire did not wait to reply to the banter, but plunged at once into the centre of the thought which had been growing on her for several days. "Mr. Ansted, do you know, I wish I could enlist both you and your sisters as helpers in the renovation of the old church down town?" "What! the old brick rookery on the corner? My dear young lady, your faith is sublime, and your knowledge of this precious village limited! That concern was past renovating some years before the flood. It was about that time, or a little later, that my respected grandfather tried to remodel the seats, and raised such a storm of indignation about his ears that it took a century to calm the people down; so tradition says. Whatever you undertake to do will be a failure; I feel it my duty to inform you of so much. And now I am burning with a desire to ask a rude question: Why do you care to do anything with it? Why does it interest you in the least? I beg your pardon if I am meddling with what does not concern me, but I was amused over the affair when the girls came home and petitioned to join the charmed circle. Why a lady who was here but for a passing season or so, should interest herself in the old horror, was beyond my comprehension. Is it strictly benevolence, may I ask?" "I don't think it is benevolence at all. It is a plain-faced duty." "Duty!" The heavy eyebrows were raised again. "I don't comprehend you. Why should a stranger to this miserable, little, squeezed-up village, and one who by all the laws of association and affinity will surely not spend much of her time here, have any duties connected with that old box, which the church fathers have allowed to run into desolation and disgrace for so many years, that the present generation accepts it as a matter of course?" "Will you allow me to ask _you_ one question, Mr. Ansted? Are you a Christian?" CHAPTER XII. LOGIC AND LABOR. THE young man thus addressed gave over fingering the piano-keys, as he had been softly doing from time to time, whirled about on the music-stool, and indulged in a prolonged and curious stare at his questioner. "I beg your pardon," he said at last, with a little laugh, as he recognized the rudeness of the proceeding; "I am struck dumb, I think. In all my previous extended experience no more astonishing query has ever been put to me. I don't know how to take it." "Won't you simply answer it?" "Why, it is too astonishing to me that the thing requires an answer! I don't believe I even know what it is to be the sort of character to which you refer." "Then, am I to understand that you don't know but you may be one?" The young man laughed again, a slightly embarrassed laugh, and gave his visitor a swift, penetrating glance, as if he would like to know whether she was playing a part; then finding that she waited, he said: "Oh, not at all! In fact, I may say I am very certain that I don't belong to the class in question, even in name." "May I ask you why?" "Why!" He repeated the word. There was something very bewildering and embarrassing about these short, direct, simply-put questions. He had never heard them before. "Really, that is harder to answer than the first. What is it to be a Christian, Miss Benedict?" "It is to love the Lord Jesus Christ with a love that places his honor and his cause and his commands first, and all else secondary." "Who does it?" "He knows. Perhaps there are many. Why are not you one?" He dropped his eyes now, but answered lightly: "Hard to tell. I have never given the matter sufficiently serious thought to be able to witness in the case." "But is that reply worthy of a reasoning being? Won't you be frank about the matter, Mr. Ansted? I don't mean to preach, and I did not intend to be offensively personal. I was thinking this afternoon how strange it was that so many well-educated, reasoning young men left this subject outside, and were apparently indifferent to it, though they professed to believe in the story of the Bible; and I wondered why it was: what process of reasoning brought them to such a position. Will you tell me about it? How do young men, who are intelligent, who accept the Bible as a standard of morals by which the world ought to be governed, who respect the church and think it ought to be supported, reason about their individual positions as outsiders? They do not stand outside of political questions where they have a settled opinion; why do they in this?" "I don't know," he answered at last. "The majority of them, perhaps, never give it a thought; with others the claims which the church makes are too squarely in contact with pre-arranged plans of life; and none of them more than half believe in religion as exhibited in the every-day lives about them." "Have you given me your reason for being outside, Mr. Ansted?" "Why, yes, I suppose so; that is, so far as I can be said to have a reason. I don't reason about these matters." "Will you tell me which one of the three reasons you gave is yours?" "Were you educated for the bar, Miss Benedict? Since you press me, I must say that a mixture of all three might be found revolving about my inner consciousness. I rarely trouble myself with the subject. That is foolish. I suppose; but it is really no more foolish than I am about many things. Then so far as I may be said to have plans, what little I know of the Bible is dreadfully opposed to the most of them, and, well, I don't more than one third believe in any of the professions which are being lived about me." "But you believe in the Bible?" "Oh, I believe it is a fine old book, which has some grand reading in it, and some that is very dull, and I know as little about it as the majority of men and women." "Oh, then let me put the question a little differently: Do you believe in Jesus Christ?" "Believe in him!" "Yes, as one who once lived in person on this earth, and died on a cross, and went back to heaven, and is to come again at some future time?" "Oh, yes; I have no particular reason for doubting prophecy or history on those points. I'm rather inclined to think the whole story is true." "Do you think his character worthy of admiration?" "Oh, yes, of course; it is a remarkable character. Even infidels concede that, you know; and I am no infidel. Bob Ingersoll and his follies have no charm for me. I have had that disease, Miss Benedict; like the measles and whooping-cough, it belongs to a certain period of life, you know, and I am past that. I had it in a very mild form, however, and it left no trace. The fellow's logic has nothing to stand on." She ignored the entire sentence, save the first two words. She had not the slightest desire to talk about Bob Ingersoll, or to let this gay young man explain some of Bob's weak mistakes, and laugh with her over his want of historic knowledge. She went straight to the centre of the subject: "Then, Mr Ansted, won't you join his army, and come over and help us?" Nothing had ever struck the brilliant young man as being more embarrassing than this simple question, with a pair of earnest eyes waiting for his answer. It would not do to be merrily stupid and pretend to misunderstand her question, as he at first meditated, and ask her whether she really wanted him to join Ingersoll's army. Her grave eyes were fixed on his face too searchingly for that. There was nothing for it but to flit behind one of his flimsy reasons: "Really, Miss Benedict, there are already enough recruits of the sort that I should make. When I find a Christian man whom I can admire with all my heart--instead of seeing things in him every day that even I, with my limited knowledge, know to be contrary to his orders--I may perhaps give the matter consideration, but, in my opinion, the army is too large now." "But you told me you admired Jesus Christ. I do not ask you to be like any other person--to act in any sense like any other person whom you ever saw or of whom you ever heard. Will you copy him, Mr. Ansted?" There was no help for it; there must be a direct answer; she was waiting. "I do not suppose I will." This was his reply, but the air of gayety with which he had been speaking was gone. You might almost have imagined that he was ashamed of the words. "Won't you please tell me why?" Was there ever a man under such a direct fire of personal questions hard to answer? Banter would not do. There was something in the face and voice of the questioner which made him feel that it would be a personal insult to reply other than seriously. "There are insurmountable difficulties in the way," he said at last, speaking in a low, grave tone. "Difficulties too hard for God to surmount? You can not mean that?" But he did not explain what he meant, and at that moment he received a peremptory summons from his mother to the parlor. He arose at once, glad, apparently, of the interruption, but did not attempt to return to the free and easy tone with which he had carried on part of the conversation, but bade her a grave and respectful good-night. Left alone, poor Claire could only sigh in a disappointed way; as usual, she had not said the words she meant to say, and she could but feel that she had accomplished nothing. It had been her father's motto to spend no time alone with a human being without learning whether he belonged to the army; and if not, making an effort to secure his enlistment. Claire, looking on, had known more than one young man, and middle-aged man, and not a few children, who had reported in after days that a word from her father had been their starting-point. Sadly, she mourned, oftentimes, because she had not her father's tact and judgment. It had seemed to her that this young man, with his handsome face and his handsome fortune, ought to be won for Christ. Why did not his mother win him, or his sister? Why did not she? She could but try; so she tried, and apparently had failed; and she was still so young a worker that she sighed, and felt discouraged, instead of being willing to drop the seed, and leave the results with God. She belonged to that great company of seed-sowers who are very anxious to see the mysterious processes that go on underground, with which they have nothing whatever to do. The next day Claire went back to the Academy. Her twisted ankle was still to be petted and nursed, and the piano had to move from the music-room to a vacant one next to Claire's own, and the chapel and dining-room did without her for a while, but the work of the day was resumed, and went steadily forward. It was not without earnest protest that she left the home which had opened so royally to receive her; and it is safe to say that every member of the family missed her, none more than Alice, who had found a relief in her conversations from the _ennui_ and unrest which possessed her. Louis, too, had added his entreaties that the burdens of life at the Academy should not be assumed so soon, and evidently missed something from the home after her departure. It was when he was helping her to the sleigh that he said: "You did not answer my question about the old church and your interest in it; may I call some evening, and get my answer?" "We shall be glad to see you at the Academy," she had replied, cordially, "but I can answer your question now. It is because it is the church of Christ, and it is my duty to do for it in every way all that I can." "But," he said, puzzled, "how is it that the church fathers, and, for that matter, the church mothers, have let it get into such a wretched state of repair? Why haven't they a duty concerning it, rather than a stranger in their midst?" "I did not say that they had not; but they don't have to report to me; the Head of the Church will see to that." Then Dennis, the Academy man-of-all-work, had taken the reins, while Louis was in the act of tucking the robes more carefully about her, and driven rapidly away. "It is queer how things work," Ruth Jennings said, as a party of the girls gathered around their teacher to report progress. "There are a dozen things that have had to lie idle, waiting for you. Why do you suppose we had to be interrupted in our plans, and almost stand still and do nothing, while you lay on a couch with a sprained ankle? I'm sure we were doing nice things and right things, and we needed you, and it could do no possible good to anybody for you to lie and suffer up there for a week. I do say it looks sometimes as if things just _happened_ in this world, or else were managed by somebody who hated the world and every good plan that was made for it. Don't you really think that Satan has a good deal of control, Miss Benedict?" But there were reasons why Miss Benedict thought it would be as well not to let her pupil wander off just then on a misty sea of questionings. As for herself, she had no doubt that the interruption was for some good end; it is true, she could not see the end, but she trusted it. You are to remember that she had had her sharper lessons, beside which all this was the merest child's play. Those girls could not possibly know how that awful "why" had tortured her through days and nights until that memorable Sunday night when God gave her victory. What interruptions had come to her! Father and fortune, and home, and life-work, cut off in a moment; the whole current of her life changed; changed in ways that would not do even to hint to the girls; what was a sprained ankle and a few days of inaction compared with these! Yet their evident chafing over the loss of time opened her eyes to a new truth. It seemed such a trivial thing to her, that she could scarce restrain her lips from a smile over their folly in dwelling on it, until suddenly there dashed over her the thought: "What if, in the light of Heaven, my interruptions all seem as small as this?" The interrupted work was now taken up with renewed energy, and indeed blossomed at once into new varieties. "What we must do next is to give a concert." This was the spark that the music-teacher threw into the midst of the group of girls who occupied various attitudes about her chair. It was evening, and they were gathered in her room for a chat as to ways and means. Several days had passed, and the foot was so far recovered that its owner promised it a walk down the church aisle on the following Sabbath, provided Dennis could arrange to have it taken to the door. It still, however, occupied a place of honor among the cushions, and Claire sat back in the depths of a great comfortable rocker that had been brought from the parlor for her use. "A concert!" repeated Ruth, great dismay in her voice, "us?" "Yes, us." "Who would come?" This from Nettie. "Everybody will come after we are ready, if we have managed our part of the work well, and put our tickets low enough, and exerted ourselves to sell them. Oh, I don't mean _play_! I mean work! We would make ready for a first-class entertainment. Let me see, are you not all my music pupils? Yes, every one of you, either vocal or piano pupils. What is more natural than to suppose that 'Miss Claire Benedict, assisted by her able and efficient class of pupils,' can 'give an entertainment in the audience-room of the church,' etc? Isn't that the way the advertisements head?" "For the benefit of the church?" But to this suggestion Miss Benedict promptly shook her head: "No, for the benefit of ourselves." CHAPTER XIII. INNOVATIONS. I DISLIKE that way of doing things. People are being educated to suppose that they are engaged in a benevolent enterprise when they attend a benefit concert or entertainment. Those who can not afford to go ease their consciences by saying, 'Oh, well, it is for benevolence;' when it really isn't, you know; it is for self-gratification or self-improvement, and people who ought to give twenty-five dollars for a thing learn to tell themselves that they went to the twenty-five cent supper, or concert, and that is their share, they suppose. Let us invite them to come to our concert because we believe that we can entertain them, and that it will pay them to be present. "The fact is, girls, the church of Christ doesn't _need_ any benefit. We degrade it by talking as though it did. No, we will divide the proceeds of the concert in shares among ourselves; that is we, the workers, will for the time being go into business and earn money that shall be ours. We will not plead poverty, or ask people to listen to us because of benevolence; we will simply give them a chance to hear a good thing if they want to, and the money shall be ours to do exactly what we please with. Of course, if we please to give every cent of it to the church, that is our individual affair." New ground this, for those girls; they had never before heard the like; but there was an instant outgrowth of self-respect because of it. "Then we can't _coax_ people to buy tickets?" said Nettie. "I'm so glad." "Of course not. The very utmost that propriety will allow us to do will be to exhibit our goods for sale, so much for such an equivalent, and allow people the privilege of choosing what they will do, and where they will go." The girls, each and all, agreed that from that standpoint they would as soon offer tickets for sale as not; and instantly they stepped upon that new platform and argued from it in the future, to the great amazement and somewhat to the bewilderment of some of their elders. Thereafter, rehearsals for the concert became the daily order of things; not much time to spend each day, for nothing could be done until lessons were over and all regular duties honorably discharged. The more need then for promptness and diligence on the part of each helper, and the more glaringly improper it became to delay matters by having to stay behind for a half-prepared lesson. Never had the Academy, or the village, for that matter, been so full of eager, throbbing, healthy life, as those girls made it. Their numbers grew, also. At first, the music-class was disposed, like the others, to be exclusive, and to shake its head with a lofty negative when one and another of the outsiders proposed this or that thing which they would do to help. But Miss Benedict succeeded in tiding them over that shoal. "It is their church, girls, as well as ours. We must not hinder them from showing their love." "Great love they have had," sneered one; "they never thought of doing a thing until we commenced." But they were all honest, these girls, and this very one who had offered her sneer, added in sober second thought: "Though, to be sure, for the matter of that, neither did we, until you begun it. Well, let them come in; I don't care." "And we want to do so much," said Miss Benedict, with enthusiasm; "if I were you I would take all the help I could get." Meantime, the other schemes connected with this gigantic enterprise flourished. There seemed no end to the devices for money-making, all of them in somewhat new channels, too. "Not a tidy in the enterprise," said Ruth Jennings, gravely, as she tried to explain some of the work to her mother. "Who ever heard of a church getting itself repaired without the aid of tidies and pin-cushions! I wonder when they began with such things, mother? Do you suppose St. Paul had to patronize fairs, and buy slippers and things, for the benefit of churches in Ephesus or Corinth?" The bewildered mother, with a vague idea that Ruth was being almost irreverent, could not, for all that, decide how to answer her. "For there isn't any religion in those things, of course," she said to the equally-puzzled father, "and it did sound ridiculous to hear St. Paul's name brought into it! That Miss Benedict has all sorts of new ideas." In the course of time, the boys (who are quite likely to become interested in anything that has deeply interested the girls) were drawn into service. Here, too, the ways of working were unusual and suggestive. Miss Benedict heard of one who had promised to give all the cigars he would probably have smoked in two months' time, whereupon she made this eager comment: "Oh, what a pity that it is not going to take us fifty years to repair the church! then we would get him to promise to give us the savings of cigars until it was done!" This was duly reported to him, and gave him food for thought. Another promised the savings from sleigh-rides that he had intended to take, and another gravely wrote down in Ruth Jennings' note-book: "Harry Matthews, $1.10; the price of two new neckties and a bottle of hair oil!" There was more than fun to some of these entries. Some of the boys could not have kept their pledges if there had not been these queer little sacrifices. One evening there was a new development. Ruth Jennings brought the news. The much-abused, long-suffering, neglectful sexton of the half-alive church notified the startled trustees that he had received a louder call to the church on the other corner, and must leave them. It really was startling news; for bad as he had been, not one in the little village could be thought of who would be likely to supply his place. Ruth reported her father as filled with consternation. "I wish I were a man!" savagely announced Anna Graves, "then I would offer myself for the position at once. It is as easy to make three dollars a month in that way as it is in any other that I know of." That was the first development of the new idea. Miss Benedict bestowed a sudden glance, half of amusement, half of pleasure, on her aspiring pupil, and was silent. "If it were not for the fires," was Nettie Burdick's slow-spoken sentence, rather as if she were thinking aloud than talking. That is the way the idea began to grow. Then Ruth Jennings, with a sudden dash, as she was very apt to enter into a subject: "It is no harder to make fires in church stoves than it is in sitting-room ones. I've done that often. I say, girls, let's do it!" Every one of them knew that she meant the church stoves instead of the sitting-room ones, and that was the way that the idea took on flesh, and stood up before them. There followed much eager discussion and of course some demurs. Nothing ever was done yet, or ever will be, without somebody objecting to it. At least, this was what Ruth said; and she added that she could not, to save her life, help being a little more settled in a determination after she had heard somebody oppose it a trifle. However, the trustees opposed it more than a trifle. They were amazed. Such an innovation on the time-honored ways of South Plains had never been heard of before. Argument ran high. The half-doubtful girls came squarely over to the aggressive side, and waxed eloquent over the plan. It was carried at last, as Miss Benedict, looking on and laughing, told the girls she knew it would be. "When you get fairly roused, my girls, I observe that you are quite apt to carry the day." She did not tell them that they were girls after her own heart, but I think perhaps she looked it. One request the trustees growled vigorously over, which was that the new sextons should be paid in advance for a half-year's work. What if they failed? "We won't fail," said Ruth indignantly, "and if we do, can't you conceive of the possibility of our being honest? We will not keep a cent of the precious money that has not been earned." Whereupon, Mr. Jennings, in a private conference with the trustees, went over to the enemy's side, and promised to stand security for them, remarking apologetically that the girls had all gone crazy over something, his Ruth among the number. Therefore eighteen dollars were gleefully added to the treasury. The sum was certainly growing. The Sabbath following the installation of the new sextons marked a change in the appearance of the old church. The floors had been carefully swept and cleansed, the young ladies drawing on their precious funds for the purpose of paying a woman who had scrubbed vigorously. "It would be more fascinating," Ruth Jennings frankly admitted, "to let all the improvements come in together in one grand blaze of glory; but then it would be more decent to have those floors scrubbed, and I move that we go in for decency, to the sacrifice of glory, if need be." So they did. Not a particle of dust was to be seen on that Sabbath morning anywhere about the sanctuary. From force of habit, the men carefully brushed their hats with their coat-sleeves as they took possession of them again, the service over; but the look of surprise on the faces of some over the discovery that there was nothing to brush away, was a source of amusement to a few of the watchful girls. Also the few stragglers who returned for the evening service were caught looking about them in a dazed sort of way, as though they deemed it just possible that there might be an incipient fire in progress that threatened the building. Not that a new lamp had been added; the chimneys had simply been washed in soapsuds, and polished until they shone, and new wicks had been furnished, the workers declaring that their consciences really would not allow them to do less. The effect of these very commonplace efforts was somewhat astonishing, even to them. "It is well we did it," affirmed Anna Graves with serious face. "I believe we ought to get the people used to these things by degrees or they will be frightened." One question Claire puzzled over in silence: Did the minister really preach a better sermon that evening? Was it possible that the cleanliness about him might have put a little energy into his discouraged heart, or had she been so tired with her week of toil, that to see every one of her dozen girls out to church, and sit back and look at them through the brightness of clean lamps, was restful and satisfying? She found that she could not decide on the minister as yet. Perhaps the carrying of such a load as that church, for years, was what had taken the spring out of his voice and the life out of his words. About these things nothing must be said, yet could not something be done? How could she and her girls help that pastor? Meantime, some of the girls came to her one evening, bursting with laughter: "Oh, Miss Benedict, we have a new recruit! You couldn't guess who. We shall certainly succeed now, with such a valuable reinforcement. Oh, girls, we know now why Miss Benedict sprained her ankle, and kept us all waiting for a week! This is a direct result from that week's work." "What are you talking about?" said Miss Benedict, with smiling eyes and sympathetic voice. It was a great addition to her power over those girls that she held herself in readiness always to join their fun at legitimate moments. Sad-hearted she often was, but what good that those young things should see it? "Who is your recruit?" "Why, Bud!" they said, and then there were shouts of laughter again, and Ruth could hardly command her voice to explain: "He came to me last night--tramped all the way up to our house in the snow, after meeting--because he said he wasn't so ''fraid' of me as he was of 'all them others.' Was that a compliment, girls, or an insult? Yes, Miss Benedict, he wants to help; offers to 'tend the fires,' and I shouldn't wonder if he could do it much better than it has been done at least. It was real funny, and real pitiful, too. He said it was the only 'livin' thing he knew how to do,' and _that_ he was sure and certain he could do, and if it would help any, he would be awful glad to join." "But doesn't he want to be paid?" screamed one of the girls. "Paid? not he! I tell you he wants to join us. He said he wanted to do it to please _her_. That means you, Miss Benedict. You have won his heart in some way. Oh, it is the fruit of the sprained ankle. You know, girls, she said it was surely for some good purpose." Then they all went off into ecstatic laughter again. They were just at the age when it takes so little to convulse girls. "But I am not yet enlightened," explained Claire, as soon as there was hope of her being heard. "Who is Bud?" "Oh, is it possible you don't remember him? That is too cruel, when he is just devoted to you! Why, he is the furnace-boy at the Ansteds. I don't know where he saw you. He muttered something about the furnace and the register that I did not understand; but he plainly intimated that he was ready to be your devoted servant, and die for you, if need be, or at least, make the church fires as many days and nights as you should want them. Now the question is, what shall we do to the poor fellow?" The furnace-boy at the Ansteds! Oh, yes, Claire remembered him, a great, blundering, apparently half-witted, friendless, hopeless boy. Claire's heart had gone out in pity for him the first time she ever saw him. He had been sent to her room to make some adjustment of the register-screw, and she had asked him if he understood furnaces, and if he liked to work, and if the snow was deep, and a few other aimless questions, just for the sake of speaking to him with a pleasant voice, and seeming to take an interest in his existence. Her father's heart had always overflowed with tenderness and helpfulness for all such boys. Claire had pleased herself--or perhaps I might say saddened herself--with thinking what her father, if he were alive, and should come in contact with Bud, would probably try to do for him. She could think of ways in which her father would work to help him, but she sadly told herself that all that was passed; her father was gone where he could not help Bud, and there were few men like him; and the boy would probably have to stumble along through a cold and lonely world. She had not thought of one thing that _she_ could do for him; indeed, it had not so much as occurred to her as possible that there could be anything. After that first day she had not seen him again, until he came to the music-room with a message for Ella, and she had turned her head and smiled, and said "Good-morning!" and that was really all that she knew about Bud. She had forgotten his existence; and she had been sorrowing because her week at the Ansteds seemed to have accomplished nothing at all. Her face was averted for a moment from the girls, and some of them, noticing, actually thought that their gay banter was offensive, and was what caused the heightened color on her cheeks as she turned back to them. They could not have understood, even had she tried to explain, that it was a blush of shame over the thought that the one whom possibly she might have won from that home for the Master's service she had forgotten, and reached out after those whom, possibly, she was not sent to reach. Her eyes were open now; she would do what she could to repair blunders. "Do with him?" she said, going back to Ruth's last question. "We'll accept him, of course, and set him to work; I should not be greatly surprised if he should prove one of the most useful helpers on our list before the winter is over. Look at the snow coming down, and we have a rehearsal to-night; don't you believe he can shovel paths, as well as make fires?" "Sure enough!" said those girls, and they went away pleased with the addition to the circle of workers, and prepared every one to greet him as a helper. CHAPTER XIV. BLIND. I SUPPOSE there was never a project that went forward on swifter wings than did this one, born of the stranger's sermon preached that night in the little neglected church at South Plains. Sometimes I am sad over the thought that he knew nothing about it. Nobody, so far as I am aware, ever took time to tell him that he was the prime mover in the entire scheme. The numerous plans for making money made progress with the rest. Prospered, indeed, to a degree that filled the young workers with amazement--I might almost say, with awe. They grew into the feeling that Miss Benedict was right, and that God himself smiled on their scheme, and gave it the power of his approval. As the days went by, the reading spirit in the enterprise grew almost too busy to write her daily hurried postals to her mother. These same postals were gradually filled with items that astonished and somewhat bewildered the mother and daughter who watched so eagerly for them. "Would mamma be so kind as to call on Mr. Parkhurst, the one who was chief man at the carpet factory up there by papa's old mill, you know? Would she, on the next bright day, take the blue car line and ride up there and talk with him? The ride would do her good, and it would be such a help to the girls. They would need only a little carpeting, it was true; but if Mr. Parkhurst would be so kind as to sell to them at wholesale, factory prices, it would make a great difference with their purses, and she was sure he would be pleased to do it if mamma would ask him, because you know, mamma, he felt very grateful to papa for help years ago." This was the substance of one postal. "One would think that Claire had bought the little old church, and was fitting it up for her future home," commented Dora, a trifle annoyed. The truth was, her sister seemed almost unpardonably satisfied and happy away from them. Another day would bring further petitions: "Would it be too much for mamma to look at wall-papers, something very neat and plain, not at all expensive, but suited to a small church; and make an estimate of the expense in round numbers?" Then would follow a line of figures, indicating length and breadth and height. "What a child she is!" would the mother say, sighing and then smiling--the smiles came last and oftenest in speaking of Claire. "She was always very much like your father, and it grows on her. Well, we must see about the wall-paper; perhaps this afternoon will be a good time to give to it." And the commissions were executed promptly and with painstaking care; and Claire could see that both mother and Dora were becoming interested in the old church at South Plains, and were absorbing a good many of their otherwise leisure and sad hours in travelling hither and thither in search of shades and grades that would be likely to give her satisfaction. Samples were sent to her, and astonishingly low figures accompanied some of them; figures which were communicated with shining eyes to the deeply-interested girls, and they sent messages of thanks to the mother and daughter far away. Meantime, the Ansteds were not forgotten. There was a special committee meeting one evening in Miss Benedict's room. A letter had come "from the foreign member of our firm," Miss Benedict had explained, laughing, meaning her mother, and its contents were to be discussed and voted upon. In the midst of the interest came a message from Mrs. Foster: "Would Miss Benedict be kind enough to come to the parlor for a few minutes, to see Mr. and Miss Ansted?" "I must go, girls," Claire said, rising quickly. "This is the third attempt Miss Ansted has made to call on me since their kindness to me, and I have either been out or engaged in giving lessons. You will have to excuse me for a little while. I will return as soon as I can. Meantime, I am going to see if I can't secure help in that direction for our enterprise." "You won't," said Mary Burton, emphatically. "They say Alice Ansted is a good singer, but she has been heard to say that she would as soon think of singing in a barn as in our church; and that the one time she heard our organ, she thought it was some mice squealing in the ceiling." "Wait until we get it tuned, and the pedals oiled," said Ruth Jennings; "I don't believe it will be such a bad-sounding instrument. At least, it is my opinion that Alice Ansted will find herself able to endure in that line what Miss Benedict is. Girls, I heard last night that she is a beautiful singer. Isn't it queer that she has never sung for us?" This last was after Claire had left them, but as she was about to close the door, Ruth Jennings had made a remark which had drawn her back: "Get Louis Ansted to pledge us the money which he spends in wines each year, and that will do us good and him too." "Does he use wines freely?" Claire said, turning back. "Yes, indeed he does; altogether too freely for his good, if the village boys can be believed. I heard that he came home intoxicated only night before last." "Why, that is nothing new!" added Nettie Burdick; "he often comes home in that condition. Dick Fuller says it is a common experience; and he would know what he is talking about, for he has to be at the depot when the last train comes in. Besides, he makes his money in that way; why shouldn't he patronize himself?" "What do you mean?" Claire asked, her face troubled. "Why, his money is all invested in one of the distilleries. He has a fortune in his own right, Miss Benedict, left him by his grandmother, and he invested it in Westlake's distillery. He is one of the owners, though his name does not appear in the firm; the Ansted pride would not like that; but I know this is true, for my uncle transacted the business for him." Claire started again, making no comment, but this time she moved more slowly. There were reasons why the news gave her a special thrust. The callers greeted her with evident pleasure, and expressed their disappointment at having failed to see her in their other attempts, and gave her messages from their mother to the effect that she was to consider their house one of her homes. Fanatic though she was, it was plainly to be seen that they had resolved to tolerate the fanaticism for the sake of the pleasure of her society. There were other callers, and in a few minutes the conversation, which had been general, dropped into little side channels. Alice Ansted, occupying a seat near Miss Benedict, turned to her and spoke low: "I have wanted to see you. What you said to me that day has made me more dissatisfied than ever, and that was unnecessary; I was uncomfortable enough before. I did not understand you. What is there that you want me to do?" "How do you know I want you to do anything?" Claire could not resist the temptation to ask the question, and to laugh a little; her questioner's tone was so nervous, so almost rebellious, and at the same time so pettish. "Oh, I know well enough. You expressed surprise, and well--almost bewilderment--that I did not find absorbing work in a channel about which I know nothing. Suppose I am a Christian, what then? What do you want me to do?" "But, my dear Miss Ansted, I am not the one of whom that inquiry should be made. If you belong to the Lord Jesus, surely he has work for you, and is able to point it out, and to fill your heart with satisfaction while you do his bidding." There was a gesture almost of impatience. "I tell you I don't understand such talk. It sounds like 'cant' to me, and nothing else; that is, it does when other people say it, but you seem different; you live differently, some way, and interest yourself about different matters from those which absorb the people whom I have heard talk that way. Now I ask you a straightforward question: What do you want me to do? What do you see that I could do, if I were what you mean by being a Christian?" Claire's face brightened. "Oh, that is such a different question!" she said. "I am really very glad of an opportunity to answer it. I know a dozen things that you could do. For instance, you could throw yourself into the life of this neglected, almost deserted church, and help to make it what it should be; you could give your time, and your money, and your voice, to making it arise and shine." "How? What on earth is there that I could do, even if I wanted to do anything in that direction, which I don't?" "I know it, but that doesn't hinder me from seeing what you _could_ do. Why, if you want me to be very specific, if you have no better plan than we are working on to propose, you could join us with all your heart, and work with us, and worship with us on Sabbaths, and help us in our preparations for a concert." "And sing in that stuffy room, to the accompaniment of that horrid little organ, and for the benefit of such an audience as South Plains would furnish! Thank you, I don't mean to do it! What else?" "Of what special use is it for me to suggest ways, since you receive them with such determined refusals?" "That I may have the pleasure of seeing how far your enthusiasm reaches. I would call it fanaticism if I dared, Miss Benedict, but that would be rude. Tell me what next?" Claire considered, Miss Ansted meantime watching her closely. When at last she spoke, her tone dropped lower, and was graver: "I wish with all my soul that you would interest yourself in Bud." "In Bud!" It was impossible not to give a start of surprise, not to say dismay. "Now, Miss Benedict, that passes comprehension! What on earth is there that I could do for a great, ignorant, blundering clod like Bud? He has plenty to eat, and is decently clothed without any assistance from me. What more can you imagine he wants?" "He wants God," said Claire, solemnly, "and the knowledge of him in the face of Jesus Christ. He is to live forever, Miss Ansted, as certainly as you are; and the time hastens when food and clothing for the soul will be a necessity for him as well as to you, or he will appear before God naked and starved, and you will have to meet him there, and bear some of the blame." "I never heard a person talk so in my life. Bud is not more than half-witted. I doubt whether he knows that there is such a being as God. What can you fancy it possible for me to do for him?" "Do you think, then, that he has no soul?" "Why, I did not say that! I suppose he has, of course. He is not an animal, though I must say he approaches very nearly to the level of one." "And don't you think that he will have to die, and go to the judgment, and meet God?" "How dreadful all these things are! Of course he will! but how can I help it?" "Do you suppose he is ready?" "I don't suppose he ever thought of such a thing in his life. He hasn't mind enough, probably, to comprehend." "Do you really think so? Don't you believe the boy to whom you can say, 'Close the blinds on the north side, to shut out the wind,' could understand if you said: 'Bud, God is as surely in the world as the wind is, though you can not see either. He has said that when you die you shall see him, and that you shall live with him in a beautiful home, if you will love him here, and obey his orders; and what he wants you to do is all printed in a book that you can learn to read?' Do you think Bud could not comprehend as much as that?" "I never heard of such an idea in my life!" said Miss Ansted. "I don't know how to teach such things." And she turned away and talked with a caller about the travelling opera company who were to sing in the city on the following evening. Mr. Ansted had changed his seat, meantime, and was waiting for his opportunity. He turned to Claire the moment his sister withdrew. "I came to ask a favor of you this evening; two of them, in fact; but the first is on such strange ground for me, that I have been studying all day how to put it." "And have you decided?" "No, left it in despair; only praying that the Fates would be favorable to me, and grant me opportunity and words. Here is the opportunity, but where are the words?" "I have always found it comfortable to be as simple and direct as possible with all communications. Suppose you see how fully you can put the thought before me in a single sentence." The gentleman laughed. "That would be one way to make an interview brief, if such were my desire. I can not say, however, that that phase of the subject troubles me any. Well, I will take your advice, and put a large portion of my thought into a short sentence: I wish you could and would do something for Harry Matthews." It was not in the least what she had expected. She supposed his words were to preface a flattering invitation, or something of that character. An apparently earnest sentence, concerning a merry young fellow in whom she was already somewhat interested, filled her with surprise, and kept her silent. "Is that brief and abrupt enough?" he asked, and then, without waiting for answer, continued: "I mean it, strange as it may seem; and I so rarely do unselfish things that I can imagine it seems strange enough. I haven't a personal thought in the matter. Harry is a good fellow; a little fast, the old ladies say, and shake their heads, but they don't know what they mean by that. The boy is a favorite of mine; and he is one who has a good deal of force of character without any will-power, if that is not a contradiction. I fancy you know what I mean. I am going to speak more plainly now. Away back in some former generation--no, I am going to tell the naked truth. Do you know anything of his family, Miss Benedict?" "Not anything." "Well, his father was a good man and a drunkard. You think that is another contradiction of terms. Perhaps it is, as you would mean it, but not as I do. He was a good, warm-hearted, whole-souled man, and he drank himself into his grave; shipwrecked his property, and left his widow and this boy dependant on wealthy relatives, or on themselves. Harry is trying to be a man, and works hard, and is specially tempted in the line at which I have hinted. I feel afraid for him, and the only person in this little wretch of a village whom I think might help him is yourself. Will you try?" "Mr. Ansted, why don't you help him?" It was his turn to be taken aback. He had not expected this answer. He had looked for an instant and interested affirmative, and he had expected to tell her more of Harry Matthews, and of his peculiar associations and temptations. "I!" he said, and then he laughed. "Miss Benedict, you are most remarkable as regards your talent for asking strange questions. It is evident that you are a stranger in South Plains; and I don't know what the gossips have been about, that they have not posted you better. You should know that I am really the last person in the neighborhood who is expected to help anybody; least of all, can I help Harry Matthews. The most helpful thing that I can think of for the boy is to keep away from me. My influence over him is altogether bad, and growing worse. What he needs is to be drawn away from present associations entirely, and, indeed, from his present associates, of which I am often one. I fancy that this organization of yours, in which he is already interested, might be managed in a way to help him, and it occurred to me to enlighten you in regard to him, and ask for your helping hand." "Mr. Ansted, I hope you will pardon the rudeness, but your words sound to me almost like those of an insane person. You recognize your influence over a young man to be evil, realize it to the extent that you make an effort to have him withdrawn from it, and yet if I understand you, make no attempt to change the character of the influence which you have over him. That can not possibly be your meaning!" "I think it is, about that. Don't you understand? What is a mere entertainment to me--a passing luxury, which I can afford, and which does me no harm--is the very brink of a precipice to poor Harry, owing to his unfortunate inherited tendencies. I would like to see him saved, but there is nothing in particular that I can do." "Oh," she said in genuine distress, "I wonder if it is possible for a soul to be so blind! You can do _everything_, Mr. Ansted; and, moreover, how can you think you have a right to say that you are not personally in danger from the same source? Men as assured in position and as strong in mental power as you have fallen by the hundreds. Surely you know that there is no safety from such a foe save in having none of him." "Do you think so? In that we would differ. I am not fanatical in this matter. I recognize Harry's danger, but I recognize equally that I am built in a different mold, and have different antecedents." "And have no responsibilities connected with him?" "Oh, yes, I have," he said in utmost good humor; "I assumed responsibility when I came here to ask you to help him. It was the best thing I could think of to do for the boy. You think I am playing a part, but upon honor, I am not. I know his mother is anxious." She wondered afterward whether it were not an unwise question to ask, but said: "Is not your mother anxious, Mr. Ansted?" "Not in the least!" he answered smilingly. CHAPTER XV. STARTING FOR HOME. IT had been a stormy evening, and the little company of busy people who had gathered in the church for a rehearsal, were obliged to plod home through an incipient snow-storm; but they were in happy mood, for the most successful rehearsal of the enterprise had been held, and certain developments had delighted their hearts. To begin with: just as they had completed a difficult chorus, the door leading into the outside world had opened with a decisive bang, and there had been an energetic stamping of feet in the little entry, and there appeared Alice and Louis Ansted. There was still on Alice's face that curious mixture of superiority and discontent which Claire had always seen in her. "Here we are!" she said, in a tone that expressed a sort of surprise with herself at the idea. "It would be difficult to tell why. Now, what do you want of me?" Claire went forward to meet them, her face bright with welcome. "Have you really come to help us?" she asked. "I suppose so. I don't know why else we should have appeared here in the storm. It is snowing. I don't mind the storm, though; only, why did I come? I don't know; if you do, I wish you would tell me." "Well, I do. I know exactly. You came to take the alto in this quartette we are arranging. My girls were just assuring me that there was not an alto voice in our midst that could sustain the other parts. What do you say now, girls?" There was a good deal of satisfaction in her tones. It amused her to think of Ruth's discontented grumble but a moment before: "If Alice Ansted did not feel so much above us, she would be a glorious addition to this piece. Miss Benedict, her voice is splendid. I don't like her, but I would tolerate her presence if we could get her to take the alto in this." Then Mary Burton: "Well, she won't; and you needn't think of such a thing." It was at that moment that the door had opened, and she came. Claire went at once to the organ, and the rehearsal of the quartette began. I do not know but the girls themselves would have been almost frightened had they been sufficiently skilled in music to know what a rare teacher they had. Claire Benedict's voice was a special talent, God-given as surely as her soul. Time was when it had been one of her temptations, hard to resist. Such brilliant and flattering futures had opened before her, if she would but consent to give "private rehearsals." There is an intoxication about extravagant praise, and Claire had for weeks been intoxicated to the degree that she could not tell where the line was drawn, and when the world stepped in and claimed her as its special prize. It was then that the keen, clear-seeing wise and tender father had used his fatherly influence, and showed her the net which Satan had warily spread. She had supposed herself secure, after that. But when the great financial crash came upon them, and when the father was gone where he could advise and shield no more, there had come to her the temptation of her life. It would have been so easy to have supported her mother and sister in a style somewhat like that to which they had been accustomed; and to do this, she need not descend in any sense to that which was in itself wrong or unladylike. Those who would have bought her voice were willing that she should be as exclusive as she pleased. But for the clear-sightedness of the father, in those days when the other temptations had been met, she would surely have yielded to the pressure. She came off victorious, but wounded. When she had with determined face turned from all these flattering offers, and entered the only door which opened to her conscience--this one at South Plains--she had told herself that three hundred dollars a year did not hire her voice. So much of herself she would keep to _herself_. She would do no singing, either in public or private; not a note. In order to teach even vocal music, it was not necessary to exhibit her powers of song. That sermon, however, had swept this theory away, along with many others. It is true, it had been almost exclusively about the church; but you will remember that it had dealt with the conscience; and the conscience awakened on one point, is far more likely to see plainly in other directions. When next the subject of song presented itself to her mind, Claire Benedict was somewhat astonished to discover that she had not given her _voice_ when she gave herself. She had not known it at the time, but there had evidently been a mental reservation, else she would not shrink so from using her powers in this direction, in this her new sphere of life. Some earnest heart-searching had to be done. Was she vain of her voice? she wondered, that she was so unwilling to use it in the desolate little sanctuary at South Plains; that she could not even bring herself to do other than _peep_ the praises of God in the school chapel. It was a revelation of self that brought much humiliation with it. It was even humiliating to discover that it took a long and almost fierce struggle to overcome the shrinking which possessed her. It was not all pride; there was a relief in remembering that. There was a sense in which her voice seemed to belong to her happy and buried past; something which her father had loved, even exulted in, and which had been largely kept for him. But this thought of her father helped her. There was never a thought connected with him that did not help and strengthen. He would not have approved--no, she did not put it that way, she hated those past tenses as connected with him--he _did not_ approve of her hiding her talent in a napkin; her happiness should not be labeled "past;" was she not in God's world? was she not the child of a King? was not heaven before her, and an eternity there, with her father who had just preceded the family by a few days? Did she grudge him that? Was it well for her to sit down weeping, and dumb, because he had entered the palace a little in advance? From this heart-searching, there had come another victory; and if Claire Benedict did not say in so many solemn words, Take my voice, and let me sing Always, only, for my King, she nevertheless consecrated it to His service, and grew joyful over the thought that she had this talent to give. In making her selections for the coming concert, she had with rare good taste kept in mind the character of the audience which would probably gather to listen, and the capacities of her helpers. She chose simple, tender melodies, narrative poems, such as appeal to the heart, with one or two wonderful solos, and this quartette, which was new and difficult, but full of power. They sang it presently, for the first time; Claire and Alice Ansted, Harry Matthews and a friend of his who had been drawn in for the occasion. It was the first time that even her girls had heard Claire's voice in its power. They said not a word when it was ended, but they looked at one another in a startled way, and presently Ruth Jennings apologized in under tone for its power over her: "I'm sure I don't know what was the matter with me. I never cried before at the sound of music. I have read of people doing it, and I thought it rather absurd, but I could not help it. Girls, I wonder what the Ansteds think?" What Alice Ansted thought might have been expressed, in part, in her first astonished comment: "The idea of your singing in South Plains!" However, she said more than that in the course of the evening; said things which gave Claire much more pleasure. For instance: "How horridly out of order that little wretch is! Why don't you have it tuned? It would be a little more endurable then; or, at least, a little less intolerable. Our piano-tuner is coming out to-morrow, and I mean to send him down here. The idea of having nothing but a rickety chair for a music-stool! Louis, what has become of that piano-stool we used to have in our library in town? Did you store it with the other things? Well, just bring it out to-morrow. Miss Benedict will get another fall if she depends on this old chair any longer. What is that you are sitting on? A pile of old music-books, I declare! The whole thing is disgraceful. Miss Benedict, do you sing 'Easter Bells?' I should think it would just fit your voice. It runs so high that I can do nothing with it; but I wouldn't mind taking the alto with you. Louis, suppose you bring out the music to-morrow, and let her look at it." And before the evening was over, it became evident to those girls that Miss Ansted was committed to the concert, at least. They were half-jealous, it is true. They had enjoyed having their prize all to themselves. Still, she had bloomed before them that evening into such an unexpected prize, that they were almost awed, and a little glad that her glorious voice should have such an appropriate setting as was found in Alice Ansted; and besides, it was a sort of a triumph to say: "Why, the Ansteds are going to help us at our concert! They have never sung in South Plains before!" Louis, too, contributed something besides his fine tenor voice: "What makes your stove smoke so, Bud?" he questioned. And Bud explained, with some stammering, that there was something wrong about the pipe; one joint did not fit right into another joint--or, as he expressively stated it, "One j'int was too small, and t'other was too large, and so they didn't work well." "I should say not," said Louis, amused. "The wonder is that they work at all, with such a double difficulty as that to contend with. Well, Bud, you tell Hawkins to come in to-morrow, and see what is the matter with the joints, and make the large one small and the small one large, or fix it in any other way that suits his genius, so that the thing won't smoke, and send his bill to me. We will have our throats all raw here, before the important day arrives." "A music-stool, and an organ-tuner, and a new elbow for the stove-pipe," commented Ruth Jennings, in a complacent tone, as they walked home in the snow. "The Ansteds are good for something in the world, after all." About the home-going there was some talk. Claire, down by the stove adjusting her rubbers, caught the watchful, wistful gaze of Bud, and remembered what Ruth had said about her influence over him. How could she exert it so that it would tell on Bud forever? What was there that she could say to him? When was her opportunity? Right at hand, perhaps; she would try. "Bud," she said, "are you going to see me home through this snow-storm? or must you make haste up the hill?" It gave her a feeling of pain to see the sudden blaze of light on his dark, swarthy face. What a neglected, friendless life he must have led, that a kind word or two could have such power over him! "Me!" he said. "Do you mean it? I'd like to carry your books and things, and I could take the broom and sweep along before you. Might I go? Oh, I haven't got to hurry. My work is all done." She laughed lightly. What a picture it would be for Dora, could she see her plunging through the freshly-fallen snow, Bud at her side, or a step ahead, with a broom! "I don't need the broom," she said; "it has not snowed enough for that; and I am prepared, if it has; see my boots. I like the snow. You may carry my books, please, and we will have a nice walk and talk. The girls are all ready now, I think. You put out the lamps, and I will wait for you at the door." Out in the beautiful, snowy world, just as Bud's key clicked in the look, Louis Ansted came up to Claire. "Miss Benedict, let me take you home in the sleigh. I am sorry to have kept you waiting a moment; but my blundering driver had something wrong about the harness, and the horses were fractious. They are composed enough now, and Alice is in the sleigh. Let me assist you out to it, please." If it had been moonlight, he might have seen the mischievous sparkle in Claire's eyes. It was so amusing to be engaged to Bud, while his master held out his hands for her books, as a matter of course, and poor Bud stood aside, desolate and miserable. Evidently he expected nothing else but to be left. Claire's voice rang out clear, purposely to reach Bud's ear: "Oh, no, thank you, Mr. Ansted! I am fond of walking; I don't mind the snow in the least, and I have promised myself the pleasure of a walk through it with Bud. Thank you!" as he still urged, "my ankle is quite well again, and I have had no exercise to-day; I really want the walk. We thank you very much for your help this evening, Mr. Ansted. Good-night! Are you ready, Bud?" And they trudged away, leaving the discomfited gentleman standing beside his pawing horses. "It is some absurd idea of benefiting Bud that has taken possession of her," explained Alice, as the sleigh flew by the two. "She spoke to me about trying to help him. She is just as full of queer notions as she can be. The idea of helping Bud!" But the master of the horses said nothing. He was prepared to think, but not to confess, that such as she might help even Bud. That young man, though his tread was certainly heavy enough, seemed to himself to be walking on air, such a wonderful thing had come to him! Years and years had passed since anybody had spoken to him, save in short, sharp words, to give an order of some sort. Now this one, who said "Good-morning!" and "Good-evening!" when she met him, as pleasantly as she spoke to any, who had asked him kind questions about himself, who had told him that the stoves were very clean, and that it seemed pleasant to have the church warm, was actually letting him walk home with her and carry her books! Poor Bud wished there were more of them, and that they were as heavy as lead, that he might show how gladly he carried them for her sake. She, meantime, was wondering how she could best speak, to help him in any way. "Don't you sing at all?" she asked, her eyes falling on the pile of music-books, and seizing upon the question as a way of opening conversation. "Me!" said Bud, with an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, no, I can't sing, any more than a calf can." "But you like music, don't you?" She was still making talk, to try to put him at his ease. Bud found voice then for some of the feeling which possessed him. "I don't like most folks' music a bit; but I like the kind you make, I do so." He spoke with tremendous energy; there was no mistaking the intensity of his conclusions. Claire laughed a little. They were not getting on very well. Bud's musical tastes had probably not been cultivated. He liked the music that she made, because the same voice had spoken kind words to him. Well, in that case, what would he think of the music of the angels? she wondered. Some of the thought she put into words: "I'll tell you where you will like the music, Bud--when you get to heaven. Did you ever try to think what that singing would sound like?" "Me!" said Bud again, and this time there was unutterable amazement in his voice. It was clear that the idea of hearing the music of heaven had never dawned on his mind. Claire replied hesitatingly, in almost a plaintive tone. The desolation of a soul that had no heaven to look to, touched her strangely just then: "Bud, you are going there to hear the music, are you not?" "I reckon not." He spoke the words gravely, with a singularly mournful intonation. "Heaven ain't for such as me. You see, ma'am, I'm nothing but an ignorant, blundering fellow, that hadn't never ought to have been born." "Oh, Bud! I am so sorry to hear you speak such dreadful words! I didn't expect it of you. Why, don't you know you are the same as saying that the Lord Jesus Christ has not told the truth? He said he came to earth in order that you might live forever with him in heaven, and he loves you, Bud, and is watching for you to give yourself to him. And now, you even say you ought not to have been made!" "I didn't mean no harm! I was only a-sayin' what I've heard folks say time and time again about me; they didn't see what I was made for, and I didn't either." "You were made to love God, and to do work for him, and to live with him forever in his beautiful heaven. If you don't go there, it will make his heart sad. Oh, Bud, if I were you, I wouldn't treat him so!" CHAPTER XVI. LOST FRIENDS. "I NEVER knew nothing about it," Bud said, earnestly. "I never heard as anybody cared in particular what became of me, only so that I got out of folks' way and didn't bother." "Why, Bud! have you never heard the minister urge you to give yourself to Jesus?" But Bud shook his head energetically. "No minister never spoke to me," he said. "I goes to church every once in a while, because I gets my work all done, and don't know what else to do. When the horses are gone, and the dog is gone, I'm awful lonesome up there," inclining his head toward the hill up which the Ansted horses were now speeding, "and the dog always goes to town to church, along with the horses, and so I went down here for company kind of; but the minister never said nothing to me. I've listened a good bit, off and on, because I felt lonesome, and did not know what else to do; but he never said nothing about me, nor told me a body cared. It was all for them other folks, that has homes and good clothes." What a pitiful story was this, coming up from the depths of the great, lonesome heart, surrounded on every hand by nominal Christians! Claire could not keep the tears from her eyes, and dared not speak for a moment, her voice was so full of them. "Did you never read any verses in the Bible?" she asked at last. "You can read, can't you?" "Oh, yes'm, I can read. I learned how when I lived with Mr. Stokes, back there in the country. Little Jack, he showed me my letters, and my easy readings, and all, and I could read to him quite a bit. Jack wasn't but eight years old; but he was smart, and he was good, and he died." The lonely story ended with a sigh. There was evidently a memory of better times enjoyed in the dim past. Claire questioned to get at the utmost of his knowledge: "And didn't Jack tell you anything about Jesus and Heaven?" "He did that, ma'am. He talked a good deal about being sent for to go there; and he was, too; I make sure of that, for he went away sudden in the night, the _life_ did, you know, and he had a smile on his face in the morning, just as he looked when he was very glad about anything, and I am about sure that it was just as he said it would be about the angels coming, and all; and he used to think they would come for me, too. 'Your turn will come, Bud,' he used to say to me. He was a little fellow, you see"--this last was in an apologetic tone--"he thought the world of Bud, and he thought everybody else was like him, and that what was fixed for him would be fixed for Bud. I used to like to hear him say it, because he was a little fellow, and he liked me; but I knew that what was for him wasn't for me." "Bud, you are mistaken. Little Jack was right about it all. There was no doubt but that the angels came for him, and they will come for you, if you want to go where Jack is. Jesus Christ, Jack's Saviour, was the one who told him to tell you about it." "Eh!" said Bud, in a sort of stupid amaze. "Did you know Jack, ma'am?" "No, I didn't know him, but I know his Saviour, the one who sent for him to go home to heaven; and I know that what he told you is true; for the same one has told me the same thing: told me to coax you, Bud, to be ready to go where little Jack is. Will you?" "I'd go on my hands and knees all night through the woods to see little Jack again, but I don't know the way." "Bud, did you know that the Bible was God's book, and told all about Jack's home, and the way to get to it? Have you a Bible?" "No," said Bud, slowly, "I haven't got no book at all. I never had no book." What desolation of poverty was this! Claire took her instant resolution. "Bud, I have a Bible which I think little Jack and little Jack's Saviour want me to give to you for your very own. I'll get it for you to-night, and then I want you to promise me that every day you will read one verse in it. It is all marked off into verses--and will you begin to-night?" "I will so," said Bud, with a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I've thought a good many times that it would be nice to have one book; but I didn't much expect to, ever. I'll read in it this very night, ma'am." And as he received the treasure wrapped in paper, and, tucking it carefully under his arm, trudged away, Claire, could she have followed him, would have found that every once in a while, during that long, homeward walk, he chuckled, and hugged the book closer. Claire went to her room, and to her knees, her heart full for Bud, poor, dreary, homeless Bud! If he _could_ be made to understand that there were home and friends waiting for him! If she had only had time to mark a few of the verses, some of those very plain ones, over the meaning of which Bud could not stumble! She was sorry that she had not retained the book for a day and done this work. It was too late now. She could only pray that God would lead him toward the right verse. To-morrow evening she would ask him for his Bible, and on the Sabbath she would employ her leisure moments in marking such verses as he ought to know. As she arose from her knees, a letter lying on her table caught her eye. A home letter, from Dora, with perhaps a few lines in it from mamma herself. She seized it like a hungry child, dropping on a hassock before the fire to enjoy it. Four closely written pages from Dora, crossed and re-crossed, after the fashion of schoolgirls, who seem to be provident only in the line of note-paper. Claire looked at it lovingly, and laid it aside to be enjoyed afterward. Here was a scrap from mamma; only a few lines on a half-sheet of paper; after these she dived. Letters from Dora were delightful, and could wait; the heart of the girl was homesick for mamma. It was over the last page of Dora's sheet that she lingered the longest. "I have not told you our piece of news, yet. We have moved. We kept it a secret from you, mamma and I, because we were sure you would think that we could not do such a thing without you; and as we were well aware that the church at South Plains could not spare you--to say nothing of the school--we determined to take the burdens of life upon our own shoulders, and give you nothing to worry over, until we were settled. It is done, and we are alive and comfortable; so you may dismiss those troubled wrinkles that I can distinctly see gathering on your forehead. "Now for the reason why: the same law which seems of late to have taken possession of us--necessity. The house you so deftly settled us in was sold, and three weeks' notice given to renters. We could have held them for a longer time, as Mr. Winfield indignantly told us, and as we very well knew, for you know how papa held that house for the Jones family when the owner said they must vacate. But what was the use? Mamma said she would rather move at once, than have any words about it. So I felt, and one day when we went out hunting the proper shade of curtain for the church you own, we hunted rooms also. Where do you think we found them? Within a square of our old home! In the Jenkins Block, you know. They chanced to be vacant, because the former occupants had bought a place on the square, and gone to housekeeping on a larger scale. The rent is the same as that which we were paying. I think Mr. Cleveland made his conscience somewhat elastic in arranging it so, for, while the rooms are smaller and less convenient than those we vacated, you know what the neighborhood is. However, he offered them on the same terms we were then paying, and of course we could not demur. I urged the taking of them at once, for mamma's sake; for, though I think with you that the farther we are away from the old home, the better, and though I hate every spot within a mile of our house, still I could see that mamma did not share the feeling. There were old friends for whose faces she pined. Good old friends, you know, who love her for herself, and not for the entertainments she used to give. And then there was the old church. I could see mamma's face brighten over the thought of being there once more; and though I hate that too, for mamma's sake, I was glad that we listened to Dr. Ellis again last Sabbath. We are comfortably situated, though you know, better than I can tell you, what a sort of mockery it is of our former way of living; but for mamma I think it will be better in every way, and she is the one to be considered. But I believe in my heart the dear woman thinks I wanted to come, and imagines that that is why she consented to the plan. I hope she does. I never mean to let her know how I grind my teeth over it all. Not fiercely, Claire; I do try to be submissive, and I know that God knows what is best, and that papa is happy, and that I must not wish him back; but the bearing it is very bitter all the time. "I am less like you even than I used to be, and papa said I was to try to be more like you. "I wonder if one thing that I have to tell will surprise you, or vex you, or whether you will not care anything about it? I have held my pen for a full minute to try to decide, and I find that I don't know. It is something that has hurt me cruelly, but then I am easily hurt. I don't want to make you feel as I do; but if you care, you ought to know, and if you don't care, no harm can come of my telling you. "Claire, I used to think in the old days that seem to have been fifty years ago, that you liked Pierce Douglass rather better than the other young men who used to be so fond of coming to our home; and I thought--in fact, I felt almost certain--that he liked you better than he did anybody else. Well, he has returned; and only yesterday I saw him on Clark Avenue. I was just coming down Reubens street, and I made all possible haste, because I thought it would be so pleasant to see his familiar face once more, and to answer his many questions. Besides, I presume I was silly, but I thought it more than probable that he was in correspondence with you, and would have some news of you to give me. I called to him, breathlessly, as I saw he was about to enter a car, and I thought more than likely he was looking for our address. 'Pierce,' I said, you know I have called him Pierce ever since I was a little bit of a girl, and he used to help me down the seminary stairs. He stopped and looked about him, and looked right at me, and made no movement toward me, though I was hastening to him. 'I am so glad to see you,' I said, for even then I did not understand. And then he spoke: 'Miss Benedict, is it? Why, I was not aware that you were in the city. I thought I had heard of a removal. I trust you are having a pleasant winter, Miss Benedict. We have a good deal of snow for this region, have we not? You will pardon my haste; I had signaled my car before you spoke.' "And he lifted his hat, with one of his graceful bows, and sprang in and was gone. Yes, I pardoned his haste! I was glad to see the car swing around the corner. I was burning and choking. The idea of being met in that way by Pierce Douglass! Only six months since he called me 'little Doralinda Honora,' and begged me not to forget to mention his name ten times a day while he was absent. Claire, I could hardly get home, my limbs trembled so. Mamma was out executing one of your commissions, and I was glad, for I was not fit to see her for hours. "I have heard to-day that Pierce has been in town for six weeks, and is to be married in the spring to Emmeline Van Antwerp. Is that any reason why he should have insulted me? I am certainly willing that he shall marry whom he pleases, if he can secure her. Claire, do you remember how Emmeline's taste in dress used to amuse him? But she is very rich, you know; at least, she is an only daughter, and her father has not failed. How does Pierce know but that in six months it will be Mr. Van Antwerp's turn? "Well, I only hope, dear Claire, that I was utterly and entirely mistaken in your friendship for that man. It seems to me now that I must have been; for, with so base a nature, he could not have interested you. "Oh, Claire, do you suppose papa knows of all these little stings that we have to bear? I can hardly see how he can be happy in heaven if he does, for he guarded us all so tenderly. Does that old worn-out church really fill your heart as it seems to, so that you can be happy without papa? That is wicked, I know, and if you are happy, I am glad you are. I do try to shield mamma, and she is like you, meek and patient. "Good-night, dear! I am very weary of this day. I am going to try to lose the memory of it in sleep." Claire rose up from reading this sheet, with a pale face out of which the brightness was strangely gone. It seemed a curious thing to her afterward, that she had thought to herself while reading it: "I am glad I spoke those words to Bud; I am glad I told him about a home where there is nothing but brightness. We need such homes." She went about with a slow step, setting the little room to rights, arranging the fire for the night; then she sat down and worked over her class-book, arranging her averages for the week. She had not meant to do that work on that evening, but she seized upon it as something that would keep her thoughts employed. She did not want to think. Suddenly, in the midst of the figures, she pushed the book from her, and burying her face in her hands, said to her heart in a determined way: "Now, what is the matter? Why do I not want to look this thing in the face? What is wounded, my pride?" After a little she drew a long, relieved breath, and sat erect. There was no need in covering this thing away; it would bear looking at. Dora had been both right and wrong. She had liked him better, yes, quite a little better than the other young men of her acquaintance. She had believed in him. When financial ruin came upon them, and friends gathered around with well-meant, but often blundering words of sympathy, she had comforted herself with thinking how gracefully Pierce Douglass would have said and done these things had he been at home. When the burden of life strained heavily upon her, she had found herself imagining how heartily he would have shouldered some of the weights that another could carry, and helped her through. She had not been in correspondence with him. He had asked to write to her, and she had, following her father's gently-offered suggestion, assured him that it would be better not; he was not to be absent many months. Yet during these weeks at South Plains, she had often told herself that perhaps Pierce would write a line for friendship's sake. He would know that a letter of sympathy offered at such a time would be very different from ordinary correspondence. Yet when no letter came, she had told herself that of course he would not write; he was too thoroughly a gentleman to do so after she had, though never so gently, refused to receive his letters. Sometimes it was this story, and sometimes she reminded herself that of course he had not her address; he would not like to inquire for it; there had been nothing in their friendship to warrant it; when he reached home, and met Dora and her mother again, as he would assuredly, she would be quite likely to get a little message from him. Not a thought had crossed her mind but that he would hasten to the old friends to offer his earnest sympathy and express his sorrow, for her father had been a friend to him. Now here was the end of it. Six weeks in town, and nothing to say to Dora but a comment about the snow! If he had said ice, it would have been more in keeping. Here was a shattered friendship; and no true heart but bleeds over such wounds. Yet, and this was the decision which made her lift her head again. There was wounded pride, certainly, and wounded feeling; but there was a sense in which it did not matter how Pierce Douglass met her sister on the street, or whom he married. She had not known it before; there had been a time when she had imagined it otherwise; but something seemed to have come into her life since her brief residence in this little village, which made her clear-eyed. She knew that she did not want to marry a man like Pierce Douglass. She knew that had he come to her, before the revelations of this letter, and asked her to share his name and home, she would have been grateful and sorrowful, but she would certainly have said, "I can not." She smiled a little as she recurred to Dora's letter. Had the old church won her heart? Surely it could not be anything else in South Plains! Yes, oh, yes, it was something that she had found at South Plains; she had been lifted up into daily fellowship with the Lord. She was learning to live as "seeing him who is invisible," and in the light of his daily companionship she could not come into close relationship with such an one as Pierce Douglass, a man who did not profess allegiance to him. And yet, you who understand the intricacies of the human heart will be able to see how the letter had stung. She did not want to marry him, but she wanted to respect him, to look upon him as a friend; to feel that he cared for her, and not for her father's millions. It was bitter to feel that here was yet another to whom friendship had been only an empty name, and to wonder how many more there were, and because of him to have less faith in the world. On the whole, I think it was well that at last she cried. They were healthy tears; and helped to wash away some of the bitterness. CHAPTER XVII. SPREADING NETS. THE morning found her her own quiet self. Her first waking thoughts were of Bud, and the first thing she did, after her toilet was made, was to sit down and study her Bible with a view to selecting some verses that she meant to mark for Bud. All day she went about her many duties with a quiet heart. Even the sting of a false friendship seemed to have been taken away. In the afternoon, she refused to ride with Mr. Ansted, on the plea that she had a music-lesson to give, but when the scholar failed to appear, she, in nowise discomfited, set herself to the answering of the home letters. A long, genial letter to her mother; longer than she had taken time for of late, fuller of detail as to the work that occupied hands and heart. Something about Bud, his lonely life, his one tender memory, her desire that he might find a Friend who would never fail him; her wish that the mother would remember him when she prayed; her longing to be in a faint sense a helper to him, as her father would surely have been, were he on the earth. "I cannot do for him what papa would," so she wrote, "but Christ can do much more; and it gives me a thrill of joy to remember that he is not only in heaven with papa, but here, watching for Bud." A detailed account of the last evening's rehearsal, and the new recruits. A hint of her desire to lead this restless Alice into clearer light--if, indeed, the true Light had ever shined into her heart. A word even about Louis Ansted: "Would mamma pray for him, too? It was said that he was in danger from several sources, and he said that his mother was not at all anxious about him. If you were his mother," so she wrote, "you would be anxious. Be a mother to him for Christ's sake, mamma dear, and pray for him, as I am afraid his own mother does not. Still, I ought not to say that, for she is a member of the church, and it may be that her son does not know her heart." To Dora there was but a scrap of paper: "It is a pity, Doralinda dear, to put you off with this little torn bit of paper, but I have written all the news to mamma, which means to you, too, of course, and this bit is just large enough for the subject about which I want to speak to you alone. Don't worry, little sister, about me, nor about Pierce Douglass' treatment of me or of you; if his manliness can afford such a slight as he gave you, we certainly can afford to bear it. In a sense, it was hard; but much harder, I should think, for him than for us. "No, little Dora; the church here has not my whole heart, though I will own that a large piece of it has gone out to the dreary little sanctuary so sadly in need of a human friend--for the Lord will not do what his people ought to do, you know; but I will tell you who is filling my heart, and keeping me at rest and happy: the Lord Jesus Christ. Not happy without papa, but happy in the sure hope of meeting him again, and never parting any more. Don't you remember, dear, there can never be another parting from papa? Some sorrowful places there may be for your feet and mine on our journey home; but so far as papa is concerned, there will be no more need for tears. Bear the thorns of the way, little sister, in patience, for they are only _on the way_ through the woods; not a thorn in the home. "I trust you will be so brave as to dismiss Pierce Douglass from your thoughts; unless, indeed, you take the trouble to ask him for what he will let us have some handsome chairs for the pulpit! I remember at this moment that his money is invested in furniture. But perhaps you will not like to do that, and he might not let us have them at any lower rates than we could secure elsewhere. Good-by, darling, brave, lonely sister. I both laughed and cried over your letter, though the tears were not about the things you thought would move them." She folded and addressed this letter with a smile. No need to tell this sensitive fierce-hearted Dora that the wound rankled for a time, and did not bring tears only because it was too deep for tears. Yet assuredly her heart was not broken over Pierce Douglass. The letter sealed and laid aside, an unemployed half-hour lay before her; not that there was not plenty to do, but that curious aversion to setting about any of it, which busy workers so well understand, came over her in full force. A sort of unreasonable and unreasoning desire that the hour might be marked by something special hovered around her. She stood at the window and looked out on the snow, and watched the sleighs fly past. A sleigh-ride would be pleasant. Why could she not have known that her music-scholar was to disappoint her, and so had the benefit of a ride? Possibly she might have said a word in season to Louis Ansted, though there was about her the feeling that he was not ready for the word in season, and would make poor use of it. Perhaps the Master knew that it was better left unsaid, and so had held her from the opportunity; but she longed to do something. A sleigh was stopping at the Academy. The young man who sprang out and presently pealed the bell, was Harry Matthews. Did he want her? she wondered, and was this her special opportunity? No, he only wanted a roll of music, to study the part which he was to sing; but on learning that the teacher was in, and at leisure, he came to her in the music-room, and asked questions about this particular song, and about the rehearsal, and asked to have the tenor played for him, and as he bent forward to turn the music, the breath of wine floated distinctly to her. Was this an opportunity? Was there something that she might say, and ought to say? It was Louis Ansted's belief that this young man's special danger lay in this direction; but what a delicate direction it was to touch! He thanked her heartily for the help which she had given him about the difficult part, and in that brief time her resolution was taken: "Now, do you know there is something that I want you to do for me?" No, he did not know it, but was delighted to hear it. Miss Benedict was doing so much for them all, that it would certainly be a great pleasure to feel that he could in any way serve her. He wished he could tell her how much he and some of the other boys appreciated this opportunity to study music. There had never been any good singing in South Plains before. There was a flush on Claire's cheeks as she replied, holding forward a little book at the same time. It _would_ serve me. She could think of scarcely anything else, so easily done, that would give her greater pleasure than to have him write his name on her pledgebook; she had an ambition to fill every blank. There was room for five hundred signers, and she and her sister at home were trying to see which could get their pledge-book filled first. Would he give her his name? And so, to his amazement and dismay, was Harry Matthews brought face to face with a total abstinence pledge. What an apparently simple request to make! How almost impossible it seemed to him to comply with it! He made no attempt to take the little book, but stood in embarrassment before it. "Isn't there anything else?" he said, at last, trying to laugh. "I hadn't an idea that you would ask anything of this sort. I can't sign it, Miss Benedict; I can't really, though I would like to please you." "What is in the way, Mr. Matthews? Have you promised your mother not to sign it?" The flush on his cheek mounted to his forehead, but still he tried to laugh and speak gayly. "Hardly! my mother's petitions do not lie in that direction. But I really am principled against signing pledges. I don't believe in a fellow making a coward of himself and hanging his manhood on a piece of paper." This was foolish. Would it do to let the young fellow know that she knew it was? "Then you do not believe in bonds, or mortgages, or receipts, or promises to pay, of any sort--not even bank-notes!" He laughed again. "That is business," he said. "Well," briskly, "this is business. I will be very business-like. What do you want me to do, give you a receipt? Come, I want your name to help fill my book, and I am making as earnest a business as I know how, of securing names." "Miss Benedict, I am not in the least afraid of becoming a drunkard." "Mr. Matthews, that has nothing whatever to do with the business in hand. What I want is your name on my total abstinence pledge. If you do not intend to be a drinker, you can certainly have no objection to gratifying me in this way." "Ah! but I have. The promise trammels me unnecessarily and foolishly. I am often thrown among people with whom it is pleasant to take a sip of wine, and it does no harm to anybody." "How can you be sure of that? There are drunkards in the world, Mr. Matthews; is it your belief that they started out with the deliberate intention of becoming such, or even with the fear that they might? or were they led along step by step?" "Oh, I know all that; but I assure you I am very careful with whom I drink liquor. There are people who seem unable to take a very little habitually; they must either let it alone, or drink to excess. Such people ought to let it alone, and to sign a pledge to do so. I never drink with any such; and I never drink, any way, save with men much older than I, who ought to set me the example instead of looking to me, and who are either masters of themselves, or too far gone to be influenced by anything that I might do." Was there ever such idiotic reasoning! But the young man before her was very young, and did not know his own heart, much less understand human nature. He was evidently in earnest, and would need any amount of argument--would need, indeed, a much better knowledge of himself--before she could convince him of his false and dangerous position; and her opportunity, if it were one, was swiftly passing. What was there that she could accomplish here and now? Since he was in such a state of bewilderment as to logic, she resolved to lay a delicate little snare for his feet. "Well, I am sorry that you will not sign my pledge. I do not like your arguments; I think they are painfully weak. I wish at your leisure you would look into them carefully, and see if you think them worthy of lodgment in an honest mind. But in the meantime, there is something else. This little favor that I am about to ask, will you promise to grant?" The young man looked immensely relieved. He had not expected her to abandon the ground so promptly; he had been on the verge of pleading fear lest his horse was restive, and so breaking away from the embarrassment. He tumbled eagerly into the pretty net. What could she ask that would not be easy enough, now that the total abstinence pledge was out of the way? He could think of nothing else that a lady such as Miss Benedict certainly was, could ask, which would not be comparatively easy of accomplishment. "I don't believe in that way of doing business," he said, looking wise, and smiling down on her in a superior way. "As a rule, I promise nothing with my eyes shut; but I am sure to be able to trust you, and I will try to do anything else that you ask of me, if only to prove how sincere I am in my desire to please." "It is a very good rule, as a rule," she said, quickly; "I would not violate it often; but this is easy enough to do; I want your signature to that." She turned the leaves rapidly, and pointed to a few lines in the back part of the little book. Two signatures were appended; but the astounding words that arrested the young man's attention were these: "I promise that within twenty-four hours after I have taken a taste of anything that will intoxicate, I will report the same, either in person or by letter, to my friend, Miss Benedict." The hot blood spread all over the face of the gay boy before her, as he read and re-read this singular pledge. "I am fairly caught," he said at last, in a constrained voice, "and in a way that I least expected. May I ask you what possible good it can do you to burden yourself with such senseless confidences as these?" "You are right," she said, "they are confidences. I should not have shown you the book if I were not sure that the names there are utterly unknown to you, and will be likely always to remain so. I had a good motive, and the effort resulted in good. So much you must believe on trust. But I did not mean to catch you--at least, not in the way you mean--and to prove it, I will release you from your promise. I judged from what you told me that you would not consider it a hard one." She was speaking with cold dignity now. She was willing that he should not sign this pledge if he wished to be released. If only his unwillingness to sign would lead him to think on what dangerous ground he stood, part of her object would have been attained. But no, his pride was roused now, and came to the rescue. He refused to be released. Since she chose to burden herself in this way, he was quite willing, and should certainly add his name. This he did with a flourish, trying to be gay again, and went away assuring her that he was sorry for her, for he always kept a pledge. After he was gone, she tormented herself as to whether she had done wisely. She was more than doubtful. Those two other names had been written by friendless and sorely-tempted boys, who distrusted themselves and their resolutions to such an extent that she had devised this little plan for helping them up from the depths of despair. They were gone now, both of them, where stronger arms than hers upheld them, where they were forever safe from falling; and Harry Matthews' knowledge of their names could harm no one. But Harry was of a different world. Had she been foolish in thus almost stealing his promise? He had not taken it as she had thought he would. She had believed him to be gayly indifferent to his habits in this direction; she had believed that he was unaware how frequently he accepted business invitations of this character. On the whole, she was more than doubtful as to the unusual work done in this leisure half-hour, and looked with apprehension rather than pleasure at the name in her book. Nevertheless, she prayed over it as she had been wont to do for those who were gone now. There was nothing for it but to ask Him who never made mistakes, to overrule hers, if it was a mistake, and use it in some way for his glory. This rested her. It was so wonderful to remember that He could make even mistakes serve him! Meantime, Bud! The little lamp which belonged to his quarters over the stable, was left wholly to his care, and he did not get the best. He often stumbled his way to bed in the dark, rather than take the trouble of filling the lamp in the daytime. But to-night, with his treasure under his arm, he rejoiced to remember that part of his morning work had been to fill that lamp and put it in unusual order. It was with satisfaction that he lighted and set it on the inverted barrel that he had improvised for a table. He was to read a verse in a book! He had little knowledge as to whether the verses were long or short, whether it would take until midnight or longer to read one, and it had nothing to do with his promise. He reflected that the lamp was full, and resolved that as long as it would burn he would work at the verse, if necessary. But where to begin? What a big book it was! If Clare had but marked a verse for him as she had planned! Well, what then? It would not have been likely to have been the one over which he stopped at random, and slowly spelled out, going back over each word until he had the sentence complete: "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you, and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem." What a verse for poor, ignorant, blundering Bud! Might it not as well have been in Greek? CHAPTER XVIII. BUD IN SEARCH OF COMFORT. LET me tell you that sentences which you believe will be as Greek to certain souls, are sometimes fraught with wonderful meaning, because of an illumination about which you know nothing. It was so with Bud. Back in his memory of those bright days when little Jack was still in the flesh, were certain scenes standing out vividly. Little Jack had a mother, a good, fat, motherly, commonplace sort of woman, with no knowledge of, or care for, Bud, beyond the fact that she wanted him always to have enough to eat and a comfortable place in which to sleep, and was glad that little Jack liked him so well, simply because it was a liking that gave little Jack pleasure. This was all that she would have been to you; but to Bud she would have served for his ideal of an angel, had he known anything about angels. She was little Jack's mother, and she was motherly, and Bud had never seen a motherly woman before; perhaps, after all, you get an idea of why she was glorified in his eyes. His own mother slept in a neglected grave, when Bud was five years old, but after he came to live at little Jack's, he had lain awake nights to think how she would have looked, and acted, and spoken, had she been alive. And she always looked to him like this one motherly pattern. How Bud longed for her, for the sound of her voice, for the touch of her hand, only he could have told you. Little Jack had been in the habit of running to mother with every disappointment, every grievance, every pain. He had never been a healthy, rollicking, self-reliant boy, but a gentle, tender one, to be shielded and petted; and Bud had heard again and again and _again_ these words, spoken oh! so tenderly, that the memory of them now often brought the tears: "Poor little Jack! mother will comfort him!" and the words were accompanied with a gesture that framed itself in Bud's heart--the enveloping of little Jack's frail form within two strong motherly arms, suggestive to the boy of boundless power and protectiveness. Could words better fitted to meet Bud's heart have been marked in his Bible? Would Claire Benedict have been likely to have marked that particular verse for him? It is a truth that a certain class of Christian workers need to ponder deeply, that when we have done our best, according to the measure of our opportunities, we may safely leave the Holy Spirit to supplement our work. The next morning, Bud thoughtfully rubbed the shining coats of the horses, his mind awake and busy with a new problem. What did the verse mean, that he had read so many times, that now it seemed to glow before him on the sun-lighted snow? He had wakened in the night and wondered. What _could_ it mean? Not that he did not understand some of it; he was too unenlightened to imagine that plain words could mean other than they said. It had not so much as occurred to him that, because they were in the Bible, they must necessarily have some obscure meaning utterly foreign to what they appeared to say. Such logic as that is only the privilege of certain of the educated classes! Bud knew then, what some of the sentence meant. Somebody was to be comforted by somebody, and the way it was to be done was as a mother would do, and Bud, because of little Jack in heaven, knew how that was. Oh, little Jack! living your short and uneventful life here below, and oh! commonplace, yes, somewhat narrow-minded mother! bestowing only the natural instincts of the mother-heart on your boy--both of you were educating a soul for the King's palace, and you knew it not! How wonderful will the revelations of heaven be, when certain whose lives have touched for a few days and then separated, shall meet, in some of the cycles of eternity, and talk things over! Who but the Maker of human hearts could have planned Bud's education in this way? Well, he knew another thing. The Comforter promised must be Jesus; for had not _she_, that only other one who had spoken to him in disinterested kindness, said that Jesus, the same Jesus who had been so much to little Jack, was waiting for him, and wanted him to come up to heaven where Jack was? And if Jesus could do such great things for Jack, and really wanted _him_ could he not plan the way? Bud believed it. To be shown the way to reach such a place as Jack told of, and to be made ready to enter there when he should reach the door, would certainly be comfort enough. He could almost imagine that One saying to the little hurts by the way: "Never mind, Bud; it will be all right by and by." That was what the mother used cheerily to say sometimes to little Jack, and the verse read, "as one whom his mother comforteth." You see how the photographs of his earlier years were educating Bud. But there was one thing shrouded in obscurity. This "comforting" was to be done at Jerusalem. Now what and where was Jerusalem? Poor Bud! he had "never had no book," you will remember, and his knowledge of geography was limited indeed. He knew that this village which had almost bounded his life was named South Plains; and he knew that back in the country among the farms was where little Jack had lived, and he knew the name of the city that lay in the opposite direction; none of these were Jerusalem. Bud did not know, however, but that the next city, or town, or even farming region might answer to that name, and might be the spot to which those who would have comfort were directed. Little Jack might have lived there, for aught that he knew; they came from some other place to the farm, Miss Benedict might be from there, in which case she would know how to direct him! I want you to take special notice of one thing. It lay clear as sunlight in the boy's ignorant mind. _To Jerusalem he meant to go._ And as to time: just as soon as he possibly could, he should start. As to how he should manage by the way, or what he should do after he reached that country, he made no speculations; the road was too dark for that. All that he was sure of was that he would _start_. "I wouldn't miss of little Jack for anything," he said, rubbing with energy; "and as for the 'comforting,' if that can be for me--and she said so--why, I'd go till I dropped, to find it." A clear voice broke in on his thoughts: "Bud, mamma wants the light carriage and the pony to be ready to take her to the 12.20 train." "Yes'm," said Bud, and he had as yet not a thought of saying anything else. But Miss Alice lingered and watched the rubbing; not that she was interested in that, or, indeed, was thinking about it at all. She was watching Bud, and thinking of him. What did Claire Benedict find in him to interest her? What did she suppose that she, Alice Ansted, could do to help him? The idea seemed fully as absurd as it had when first suggested. As if the boy had an idea above the horse he was rubbing so carefully! He did not look as intelligent as the animal. She had often wondered what the horses thought about, as they trotted along. What did Bud think about as he rubbed? Did he think at all? "You seem to like that work?" It was Miss Alice's voice again. It startled Bud, the tone was so gentle, as though possibly she might be saying the words to comfort him. He dropped the brush with which he had been working; but as he stooped to pick it up, answered respectfully, "Yes, ma'am." Alice's lip curled. The idea of Miss Benedict trying to interest her in a boor like that, who could not reply to the merest commonplace without growing red in the face and blundering over his work! She turned to go. She could not think of anything else to say, and if she could, what use to say it? But in that one moment of time, Bud had taken his resolution. The voice had been kind; its echo lingered pleasantly; he would summon all his courage and ask the question which was absorbing his thoughts. It might be days before he could see Miss Benedict again, and he could not wait. "Miss Ansted," he said, and she noticed that his voice trembled, "would you tell me one thing that I want to know right away?" "That depends," she answered lightly; "I may not know. However, if your question is not too deep, I may try to answer it. What do you want?" "Why, I've got to know _right away_ where Jerusalem is." "Jerusalem!" she repeated. "Why on earth do you wish to know that? I don't know myself, precisely. It is across the ocean somewhere in Asia, you know. Why do you care, Bud, where it is?" "I've got to go there," said Bud, with simple dignity. Miss Ansted's laugh rang out merrily. "That is an undertaking!" she said, gayly. "When do you intend to start? and what is the object of the journey, I wonder?" She felt sure now that Bud was little less than an idiot. But Bud had another question to ask. His face was grave, almost dismayed. "Across the ocean!" That sentence appalled. He had heard of the ocean, and of a storm on it, and a shipwreck. A wandering sailor once told in his hearing a fearful story of wreck and peril. Yet, be it recorded that the boy, though appalled, did not for one moment recede from his fixed resolved to start, and go as far as he could. That Comforter he meant to find. It had taken such hold of his heart that he knew he could never give it up again. This was his next timidly-put question: "Did you ever go there, Miss Ansted?" "I never did," she answered, laughing still, and very curious now to know what queer project poor Bud had on his mind. "Why do you want to go, Bud?" The answer was direct and grave. "I want to go after Him who said He would comfort me. 'Ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem,' that is what it says, and _she_ said it meant me, and little Jack went, I make sure, and I mean to go. I _must_ go." But before that answer, Alice Ansted stood dumb. She had never been so amazed in her life! What did the fellow mean? What could have so completely turned his foolish brain? "If this is the outcome of Miss Benedict's efforts, she ought to know it at once, before the poor idiot concludes his career in a lunatic asylum." This was her rapid thought, but aloud she said, at last: "I don't know what you are talking about, Bud. You have some wild idea that does not seem to be doing you any good. I would advise you to drop it and think about the horses; they are your best friends." "I can't drop it," said Bud, simply; "I read the verse in the Bible; I promised I would, and I did, and I know all about it, and I want to have it; _she_ said it was for me." "What is the verse?" and Miss Alice sat down on a carriage-stool to listen. Bud repeated with slow and solemn emphasis the words which were now so familiar to his ear: "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you: and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem." "I know about mothers," he explained. "There was little Jack's mother, and she used to say to him just that, 'Mother will comfort you,' and she did. And this one I make sure is Jesus, because _she_ said he wanted me to go where little Jack is, and I guess he means me, because I feel as if he did, and I'm going to Jerusalem, if it is across two oceans." Evidently his heart gathered strength as he talked; his voice grew firmer, and the dignity of a fixed resolve began to settle on his face. Was there ever a more bewildered young lady than this one who sat on the carriage stool? She surveyed Bud with the sort of half-curious, half-frightened air, which she might have bestowed on a mild maniac whose wanderings interested her. What was she to say to him? How convince him of his queer mistake? "That doesn't mean what you think it does, Bud," she began at last. "Why doesn't it?" Bud asked, quickly; almost as one would speak who was holding on to a treasure which another was trying to snatch from him. "Because it doesn't. It has nothing to do with the city named Jerusalem. It is about something that you don't understand. It has a spiritual meaning; and of course you don't understand what I mean by that! I haven't the least idea how to explain it to you, and indeed, it is extremely unnecessary for you to know. You see, Bud, it means something entirely beyond your comprehension, and has nothing whatever to do with you." Bud made not the slightest attempt at answer, but went stolidly on with his work. And Alice sat still and surveyed him for a few minutes longer, then arose and shook out her robes, and said, "So I hope you will not start for Jerusalem yet awhile," and laughed, and sped through the great, sliding doors, and picked her way daintily back to luxury, leaving the world blank for Bud. Miss Ansted was wise about the world, and about books; surely she would know whether the verse meant him, and whether the word Jerusalem meant _Jerusalem_. Was it all a mistake? The pony was brought forward now and had her share of rubbing and careful handling, and a bit of petting now and then, though the conversation which generally went on between her and the worker was omitted this morning. Bud had graver thoughts. While he worked he went over the old memories. Little Jack, and the comforting mother, and the facts connected with those experiences, no need to tell him that _they_ did not mean what they appeared to his eyes; he knew better. Then there were the plain, simple words standing like a solid wall of granite: "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you." "Stand around!" said Bud, in a tone of authority; and while the gray pony obeyed, he told her his resolve: "Them words mean _something_, Dolly, and _she_ knows what they mean, and Bud is going to find out." You are not to suppose that the pronoun referred to Alice Ansted. She had said that she could not tell him what they meant. If anybody had been looking on with wide-open eyes, it would have been an interesting study in Providence to watch how Bud was led. It was Alice Ansted who had a very little hand in it again, though she knew nothing of it. The "leading" was connected, too, with so insignificant a matter as an umbrella. Mr. Ramsey had overtaken Louis Ansted in a rain-storm, a few days before, and had insisted on lending his umbrella, and it suited Louis Ansted's convenience to direct that it be sent home by Bud that morning. Why Alice Ansted took the trouble to go herself to Bud with the order, instead of sending a servant, she hardly knew, neither did she understand why, after having given it, she should have lingered to say: "I presume, Bud, that Mr. Ramsey can answer all the questions about Jerusalem that you choose to ask." Now Mr. Ramsey was the dreary minister who seemed to Claire Benedict to have no life nor heart in any of his work. Bud stood still to reflect over this new thought suggested to him with a half-laugh. He did not think to thank Miss Alice, and yet he knew that he was glad. It was true, the minister would be likely to know all about it, and there might not be a chance to speak to Miss Benedict again, and Bud felt that he could not wait. So, as he trudged off down the carriage-drive, he took his resolution. He had never spoken a word to a minister in his life, but he would ask to see him this morning, and find out about Jerusalem if he could. CHAPTER XIX. COMFORTED. SATURDAY morning, and the minister in his dingy study struggling with an unfinished sermon. Struggling with more than this--with an attempt to keep in the background certain sad and startling facts that his meat bill was growing larger, and that his last quarter's salary was still unpaid; that his wife was at this moment doing some of the family washing which illness had prevented her from accomplishing before, and taking care of two children at the same time; that his Sunday coat was growing hopelessly shabby, and there was nothing in his pocket-book wherewith to replace it with a new one; that the children needed shoes, and there was no money to buy them; that his wife was wearing herself out with over-work and anxiety, and he was powerless to help it; that his people were absorbed in their farms, and stores, and shops, and cared little for him, or for the truths which he tried to present. What a spirit in which to prepare a sermon for the Sabbath that was hurrying on! The study was dingy from force of necessity. The carpet was faded, and worn in places into positive holes; the table-spread was faded, because it had been long worn, and was cheap goods and cheap colors in the first place. Everything about him was wearing out, and the old-young minister felt that he was wearing out, too, years before his time. I do not know that it is any wonder that he frowned when he heard the knock at the side door. It was nearly Saturday noon; he had not time for loiterers, yet he must answer that knock; thus much he could save his wife. He threw down his pen, with which he had just written the half-formed sentence, "the inexorable and inscrutable decrees of God," and went to the door to admit Bud, and the umbrella. Not much need for delay here, and yet Bud lingered. The umbrella had been set aside, and the minister had said it was no matter that it had not been brought before, and still Bud did not go. He held his hat in his hand, and worked with nervous fingers at the frayed band around it, and at last, summoning all his courage, dashed into the centre of his subject: "If you please, sir, will you tell me where Jerusalem is?" "Jerusalem!" repeated the minister, and he was even more astonished than Alice Ansted had been; but he looked into Bud's eager, wistful face, and saw there something, he did not understand what, which made him throw the door open wider, and say, "Come in;" and almost before he knew what he was doing, he had seated Bud in the old arm-chair by the stove, in the study, and was sitting opposite him. You don't expect me, I hope, to describe that interview? There have been many like it, in degree, all over the world, but nothing quite so strange had ever come to this minister before. Actually a hungry soul looking for the Jerusalem above, about which he, the minister, had read that morning, with bated breath and an almost rebellious longing to be there, where "there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away." It was not difficult to show Bud the way. He was like a child who heard with wide-open wondering eyes, and for the first time, the astounding fact that the Jerusalem toward which his eyes were turned was near at hand; that there was no ocean to cross, no dangerous journey to take; it was simply to put forth the hand and accept the free gift. I pause, pen in hand, to wonder how I can make plain to you that this is no made-up story; that Bud is a real character who lives and does his work in the world to-day. It is so natural in reading what people call fiction, to turn from the book with a little sigh, perhaps, and say: "Oh, yes; that is all very well in a _book_, but in real life things do not happen in this way; and there are no people so ignorant as that Bud, anyway." But some of us do not write fiction; we merely aim to present in compact form before thoughtful people, pictures of the things which are taking place all around them. Bud did live, and _does_ live; and he was just so ignorant, and he did hear with joy the simple, wonderful story of the way to the Jerusalem of his desires, and he did plant his feet firmly on the narrow road, and walk therein. I want to tell you what that minister did after the door had been closed on Bud for a few minutes. He walked the floor of his limited study with quick, excited steps, three times up and down, then he dropped on his knees and prayed this one sentence, "Blessed be the Lord God, who only doeth wondrous things!" Then he went out to the kitchen, and kissed his wife, and made up the fire under her wash-boiler, and filled two pails with water, and carried Johnnie away and established him in a high-chair in the study, with pencil and paper and a picture-book; and then he took the five sheets of that sermon over which he had been struggling, and tore them in two, and thrust them, decrees and all, into the stove! Not that he was done with the decrees, or that he thought less of them than before; but a miracle had just been worked in his study, and he had been permitted to be the connecting link in the wondrous chain through which ran the message to a new-born soul, and the decree which held him captive just then was that one in which the Eternal God planned to give his Son to save the world. And he was so glad that this decree was inexorable, that its inscrutability did not trouble him at all. I am glad that he made up that fire, and filled those water-pails, and, busy as he had need to be, gave some gentle attention to Johnnie. A religious uplifting which does not bubble over into whatever practical work the heart or the hands find to do, is not apt to continue. It was on the following Sabbath that Miss Benedict found opportunity to offer to mark the verses in Bud's Bible. "Bud," she said, stopping at the bell-rope where he tolled the bell, "if you will let me take your Bible after church--did you bring it with you? Well, if you will let me take it, I will mark some verses in it that I think will help you. Did you read a verse each day?" "Oh, yes'm," said Bud, and there was that in his voice which made her turn and look closely at him. "I read it, and I found out the way, and I went and spoke to Him, and He took me right in, as He said He would, and there's no comfort like it, I'm sure. I don't miss little Jack's mother any more." What did all this mean? Bud began in the middle of things, according to his wont. He forgot that Miss Benedict had heard nothing about the promised comfort in Jerusalem, nor the difficulties he had had in being shown into the right way. Yet there is something in the family language, however awkwardly used, that conveys a meaning to those of the same household. "Bud, do you really mean that you went to Jesus Christ, and he gave you comfort?" "I do that, ma'am," said Bud, with hearty voice and shining eyes, and he gave the bell-rope a vigorous pull. "He was right by my side all the time, the minister said, when I bothered so about crossing the ocean, and there wasn't any ocean to cross; and I've got the comfort, and I'm going to hear the singing that you told about. I didn't think I ever could, but now I know the way." Claire turned away silently, and walked softly into church, awed. Had poor Bud really met the Lord in the way? It looked so. She need have no more regrets over those unmarked verses. But how wonderful it was! And that is just the truth, dear, half-asleep Christian; wonders are taking place all about you, and it is possible that you are merely engaged in trying to prove to yourself and others that "the age of miracles is past;" though why you should be very anxious to prove it, does not clearly appear even to yourself. The minister, who preached that morning, was the same minister who had stood behind that desk and read his sermons to that people for seven years, though some of his hearers rubbed their eyes, and looked about them in a dazed way, and wondered if this _could_ be so. What had happened to the man? He had not a scrap of paper before him. In the estimation of some, he did not preach. Mrs. Graves, who read sermons aloud at home on Sabbath afternoons, and was inclined to be literary, said that it was not a _sermon_ at all--that it was just a talk. But Deacon Graves, who was not literary, replied: "Well, if he should take to talking very often, we should all have to wake up and look after our living, for it pretty nigh upset everything we have done this good while, and I must say it kind of made me feel as though I should like to see something stirring somewhere." None of them knew about the minister's uplifting, only Bud, and Bud did not know that it was an uplifting, or that the minister cared, or that the sermon had anything to do with him, or, for that matter, that it was any different from usual. Bud knew _he_ was different, and it gave him the most intense and exquisite joy to discover that he understood nearly every word that the minister said; but this he attributed not to a change in the sermon, but because he had fairly started on his journey to the heavenly Jerusalem. It is possible that some listeners need that sort of uplifting before the sermons to which they appear to listen will ever be other than idle words. Yes, there was one other who knew that a strange and sweet experience had come to the disheartened minister. That was his wife. She had known it ever since he came and kissed her, and made up that fire, and filled those pails. The kiss would have been very precious to her without the other, but the human heart is such a strange bit of mechanism, that I shall have to confess to you, that in the light of that new-made fire, the tenderness glowed all day. And now the preparations for the concert went on with rapid strides. The Ansteds slipped into the programme almost before they realized it, and were committed to this and that chorus and solo, and planned and rearranged and advised with an energy that surprised themselves. It has been intimated to you that opportunities for enjoying good music were rare at South Plains. What musical talent they possessed had lain dormant, and the place was too small to attract concert singers, so an invitation to a musical entertainment came to the people with all the charm of novelty. Of course, the girls took care that the invitations should be numerous and cordial. In fact, for three weeks before the eventful evening, almost the sole topic of conversation, even in the corner grocery, had been the young folks' concert and the preparations that were making. Still, after taking all these things into consideration, both the girls and their leader were amazed, when at last the hour arrived, to discover that every available inch of room in the stuffy little church was taken. "For once in its life it is full!" announced Anna Graves, peeping out, and then dodging hastily back. "Girls, it is full to actual suffocation, I should think; and they have come to hear us sing. Think of it!" Well, whether those girls astonished themselves or not, they certainly did their fathers and mothers. Indeed, I am not sure that their young teacher did not feel an emotion of surprise over the fact that they acquitted themselves so well. Their voices, when not strained in attempting music too difficult for them, had been found capable of much more cultivation than she had at first supposed, and she had done her best for them, without realizing until now how much that "best" was accomplishing. It was really such a success, and, withal, such a surprise, that some of the time it was hard to keep back the happy tears. It is true there was one element in the entertainment which the teacher did not give its proper amount of credit. The fact is, she had so long been accustomed to her own voice as to have forgotten that to strangers it was wonderful. I suppose that really part of the charm of her singing lay in the simplicity of the singer. Her life had been spent in a city, where she came in daily contact with grand and highly cultivated voices, and she, therefore, gauged her own as simply one among many, and a bird could hardly have appeared less conscious of his powers than did she. Not so her audience. They thundered their delight until again and again she was obliged to appear, and each time she sang a simple little song or hymn, suited to the musical capacities of the audience, so that she but increased their desire for more. It was all delightful. Yet really, sordid beings that they were, I shall have to admit that the crowning delight was when they met the next morning, tired, but happy, and counted over their gains, and looked in each other's faces, and exclaimed, and laughed, and actually cried a little over the pecuniary result. "Girls," said Miss Benedict, her eyes glowing with delight, "we can carpet the entire aisles. Think of that!" Then began work. "Since we haven't been doing anything for the last two months," said Mary Burton, with a merry laugh, "I suppose we can have the privilege of going to work now." Meantime, the days had been moving steadily on. Christmas holidays had come and gone, and the boys, as well as the girls, to whom the holiday season had been apt to be a time of special dissipation and temptation, had been tided safely over it by reason of being so busy that they had no time for their usual festivities. The vacation to which Claire Benedict had looked forward with sad heart, on her first coming to South Plains, because it would be a time when she might honorably go home if she could afford it, and she knew she could not, had come and passed, and had found her in such a whirl of work, so absorbed from morning until night, as to have time only for postals for the mother and sister. "When the rush of work is over," so she wrote, "I will stop for repairs, and take time to write some respectably lengthy letters, but just now we are so overwhelmed with our desire to get the church ready for Easter Sunday that we can think of nothing else. Mamma, I do wish you and Dora could see it now, and again after it emerges from under our hands!" "What _is_ the matter with her?" asked Dora, and then mother and daughter laughed. It was impossible to be very dreary with those breezy postals constantly coming from Claire. It was impossible not to have an almost absorbing interest in the church at South Plains, and think of, and plan for it accordingly. "Mamma," Dora said, after having read the latest postal, as she sat bending it into various graceful shapes, "I suppose that church down on the beach that the girls of our society are working for, looks something like the one at South Plains. I think I will join that society after all; I suppose I ought to be doing something, since Claire has taken up the repairing of old churches for a life-business." This last with a little laugh, and the mother wrote to Claire a few days later: "Your sister has finally succeeded in overcoming her dislike to joining the benevolent society again, and is becoming interested in their work. They have taken up that seaside church again which you were going to do such nice things for, you know. Dora has felt all the time that there was nothing for her to do now, because we are poor, and has held aloof, but yesterday she joined the girls, and brought home aprons to make for the ready-made department of Mr. Stevenson's store. The plan is that Mr. Stevenson shall furnish shades for the church windows at cost, and the girls are to pay him by making up aprons for that department. I am glad for anything that rouses Dora; not that she is bitter, but she is sad, and feels herself useless. My dear, you are doing more than repairing the church at South Plains; you are reaching, you see, away out to the seaside." CHAPTER XX. BUD AS A TEACHER. IT became a matter of astonishment to discover how many friends the old church had, and from what unexpected quarters they appeared. It really seemed as though each worker had an uncle, or brother, or cousin, of whom she had not given a thought in this connection, who yet grew interested and offered help. It was Anna Graves who started this special form of help, by an announcement that she made one morning: "Girls, what do you think! My uncle Will is coming to stay two weeks, and he says he will fresco the church ceiling for us, if we will be content with plain work that he can do rapidly." It did not take the eager listeners long to promise to be content with the very plainest work that could be imagined. Their imagination had not thought of reaching after frescoed ceilings. "That is an idea!" said Nettie Burdick. "I wonder if Joe and Charlie would not help us?" Now Joe and Charlie were wall-paperers in the city; and it was only a few days thereafter that Nettie announced with great satisfaction that they would come out and paper the old church, for their share in the good work. Then came Ruth Jennings' brother-in-law who was in business in a more distant city, and having called for Ruth and waited for her on the evening when that perplexing question of window-shades was being discussed, he volunteered a delightful bit of information: "Didn't they know about the new paper in imitation of stained glass? So good an imitation that when well laid it would take an expert to distinguish the difference." No, indeed, they had never heard of such a thing; and all other business was suspended while the brother-in-law was plied with questions, the conclusion of the matter being that he said "their firm" dealt quite largely in this new invention, and he could have enough for this little church supplied at cost, if they would like to go into it. And being able to give in round numbers the probable cost, the girls gleefully voted to "go into it," provided they could secure any person who knew how to manage it. This at once developed further resources belonging to the brother-in-law. He knew all about it, and would lay the paper for them with pleasure, if some of the "fellows" would help. He would just as soon spend a day in that way as not. "Stained-glass windows!" said Ruth Jennings, with a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction. "As if South Plains had ever dreamed of attaining to such heights! Girls, _will_ the old red curtains do for dusters, do you believe, if we wash them tremendously?" The very next day brought them another surprise. Miss Benedict read part of a letter from "mamma," wherein it appeared that a certain Mr. Stuart, of the firm of Stuart, Greenough & Co., had become interested in the church at South Plains, through Dora's reports of what absorbed her sister's energies, and in grateful remembrance of certain helps which Claire's father had given their church in its struggling infancy, he had selected a walnut desk and two pulpit chairs, which he had taken the liberty to ship to Miss Claire Benedict, with his kind regards and earnest wish that her efforts might be prospered, even as her father's had been before her. Over this astonishing piece of news some of the girls actually cried. The pulpit desk and chairs had represented a formidable bill of expense looming up before them. Each had been privately sure that they would be obliged at last to take those which would jar on their esthetic tastes, out of respect to the leanness of the church purse. And here was solid walnut, selected by a man of undoubted taste and extensive knowledge in this direction. I don't think it strange that they cried! Mary Burton, while she wiped her eyes, made a remark which was startling to some of the girls: "How much your father has done for us this winter!" and she looked directly at Claire Benedict. Didn't Mary remember that the dear father was dead? But Miss Benedict understood. Her eyes which had remained bright with excitement until then, suddenly dimmed; but her smile and her voice were very sweet. "Oh, Mary! thank you!" was all she said. Among the workers it would have been hard to find one more faithful or more energetic than Bud. He was full of eager, happy life. Much depended upon him. He could blacken stoves with the skill of a professional, and none were ever more vigorously rubbed than those rusty, ash-be-strewn ones which had so long disgraced the church. It had been good for Bud to have others awaken to the fact that there were certain things which he could do, and do well. An eventful winter this was to him. Having made an actual start toward Jerusalem, it was found that he put more energy into the journey than many who had been long on the way; and, as a matter of course, before long it became apparent that he was taking rapid strides. Miss Alice Ansted was among the first to realize it. She came to Claire one evening with embarrassed laughter, and a half-serious, half-amused request for instruction: "I'm trying to follow out some of your hints, and they are getting me into more trouble than anything I ever undertook. Sewing societies and charity parties are as nothing in comparison. I am trying to teach Bud! He wants to study arithmetic; it is an absurd idea, I think; what will he ever want of arithmetic? But he was determined, and you were determined, and between you I have been foolish enough to undertake it, and now it appears that arithmetic is a very small portion of what he wants to learn. He wants to know everything that there is in the Bible; and where church-members get their ideas about all sorts of things, and what the ministers study in the theological seminary, and why all the people in the world don't attend prayer-meeting, and I don't know what not! He acts as though his brain had been under a paralysis all his life, which had just been removed. I must say he astonishes me with his questions; but it is easier to _ask_ questions than it is to answer them. What, for instance, am I to say to ideas like these? Since you have gotten me into this scrape, it is no more than fair that you should help me to see daylight." And then would follow a discussion, nearly always pertaining to some of the practical truths of the Christian life, or to some direction that Bud had found in the course of his daily Bible verse, which seemed to him at variance with the life which was being lived by the professing Christians about him, and which he turned to his arithmetic-teacher to reconcile. Bud, being ignorant, found it impossible to understand why people who professed to take the Bible for their rule of life, did not follow its teachings, and he brought each fresh problem to Alice Ansted with such confident expectation that she knew all about it, that she, who had only volunteered to explain to him the rules of arithmetic, was in daily embarrassment. From these conversations, which constantly grew more close and searching as Bud stumbled on new verses, Claire Benedict used to turn with a smile of satisfaction, as well as with almost a feeling of awe, over the wisdom of the Great Teacher. Alice Ansted might be teaching Bud the principles of arithmetic, but he was certainly daily teaching her the principles of the religion which she professed, but did not _live_. In fact, others beside Alice Ansted were being taught, or, at least, were being roused, by the newly-awakened mind. The minister had by no means forgotten the visit which had glorified the study for that day, and he was still bathing his almost discouraged heart in the brightness of its memory, when a vigorous knock one morning again interrupted his studies. His eyes brightened when he saw that the visitor was Bud, and he invited him in with cordial tone. But no, Bud was in haste. There was not a trace of the hesitancy and embarrassment which had characterized his first visit. He spoke with the confidence of one who had obtained great and sufficient help at this source before, and who knew that it was the place where help could be found. "I haven't any time this morning," he said, speaking with a rapidity which had begun to characterize his newly awakened life. "I'm down at Snyder's, waiting for the pony to be shod, and there is a fellow there talking. He says the Bible ain't true; that it is just a lot of made-up stories to cheat women and children and folks that don't know nothing, like me. Well, now, I _know_ that it is no such a thing. I know the Bible is true, because I've tried it; but he hasn't tried it, you see, sir, and he won't because he don't believe in it, and I thought I would just run up here and ask you to give me something to show him that it is all true; something that I can tell him in a hurry, because the pony will be ready in a few minutes." What in the world was that minister to say? Was ever such an embarrassing question thrust at him? The evidences of Christianity--yes, he had studied them carefully; of course he had. He had written sermons to prove the truth of the Holy Scriptures; he had a row of books on the upper shelf of his library, all of them treating more or less of this subject. He turned and looked at them; ponderous volumes; it was not possible to take down even the smallest of them and set Bud to reading it. In the first place, Bud would no more understand the language in which it was written than he would understand the Greek Testament which stood by its side; and, in the second place, Bud wanted knowledge that could be transmitted while the pony was being shod! Certainly, this dilemma had its ludicrous side, but had it not also its humiliating one? Ought there not to be some word which an educated man like himself could give in haste to an ignorant boy like Bud? Something so plain that even the pony need not wait while it was being explained? Suppose the man at the blacksmith-shop had chosen to sneer over the fact that the earth is round, and Bud had come for an argument to prove the truth of this fact, how easy it would be to produce one! Ought he not to be equally ready to defend this much-slandered Bible? Thoughts are very rapid in their transit. Something like these ideas rushed through the scholar's mind while he stood looking up at his row of books, and Bud stood looking up at him with an air of confident expectation. "Bud," said the minister, turning suddenly away from his book-shelves, "how many persons are there at Snyder's?" "Eight or nine, sir; maybe more." "Are they from around here?" "No, sir; mostly from the country; I don't know any of 'em." "Well, Bud, I want you to listen carefully while I ask two or three questions. Suppose you had been there before any of those men, and as one after another began to come in, each should tell of a fire there had been last night in the city. Suppose you knew that they were not acquainted with each other, and had not met until they reached the blacksmith's shop, and suppose they told the same story, without contradicting one another in any of the important particulars, what do you believe you would conclude about them? Would you think that they had told the truth or a made-up story?" "I reckon it would be the truth, sir; cause how would they know how to make it up alike?" "That is just the point," said the gratified minister. While he talked he had been watching Bud carefully, much in doubt as to whether he had mind enough to grasp the illustration, but so far it had evidently been grasped; now he must see if it could be applied. "Listen! Did you know that thirty-six people told the story of the Bible, and that many of them not only never saw one another, but many of them died before others of them were born; and that they told the same story, without contradicting one another at all?" "No, sir," said Bud, "I didn't know nothing about it. Is that so?" Extreme delight glowed in his honest eyes, and he clutched at his cap and made a movement toward the door. "I thank you, sir; I'll go back and tell him; it will be a stunner!" Away went the newly awakened preacher of the Evidences of Christianity, and the minister went back to his Greek Testament with great satisfaction. Bud might not be able to convince the scoffer at the blacksmith's shop; Mr. Ramsey did not expect that he would; he knew that Satan had many skillful ways of using false weapons and making them flash like true steel. The thing which gave him pleasure was, that Bud had understood. He felt nearly certain that the boy's mind would not leave the question there; it would have to be investigated, and he, the minister, would have to get ready to help him. "We ought to be careful to speak about all these things in such a way that uneducated people could follow us," he said. And all that morning, while he worked over his sermon for the following Sabbath, he worked to secure simple words in which to clothe his thought; he sought illustrations to give it clearness; in short, he preached to Bud; almost unconsciously he brought the boy before his mind's eye, cap in hand--a symbol of the people whose thoughts rested for a moment on what you were saying, and then flitted away to something else--unless, indeed, the owners were caught during that moment. This particular minister had never before so fully realized this truth. He had never before labored so hard to catch the attention of the unskilled listener; nor had he ever become so intensely interested in any sermon as he did in that one. If he was to preach it for Bud, it must be very simple; and in making it very simple, his own heart took hold of it as a tremendous reality, instead of a thought out of a book. I hope I shall be understood when I say that Bud wrote the greater part of the minister's sermon that week; though he of course, was utterly unconscious of the fact. CHAPTER XXI. ONE OF THE VICTIMS. MEANTIME there were other interests at stake that winter than those involved in the renovation of the old church. For instance, there was Harry Matthews, who kept Claire's heart constantly filled with anxious thought. It became more and more apparent that he was in great and growing danger. Claire saw much of him. He had been one of the most faithful helpers during the preparations for the concert, and he was still one of the energetic workers, being included in all their plans. Moreover, he was a genial, society-loving, warm-hearted young fellow; one of the sort with whom a sympathetic girl soon becomes intimate. Claire had often, in the earlier days of her girlhood, sighed over the fact that she had no brother; and now it seemed sometimes to her as if this Harry were a sort of brother, over whose interests she must watch. So she exercised an older sister's privilege in growing very anxious about him. Neither was he so gayly happy as he had been early in the season. He had kept his pledge, coming to her at first with laughing eyes and mock gravity of face, pretending to making confession like the good little boy in the story book, who is sorry, and won't do so any more if he can help it. She always received these admissions with a gentle gravity, so unmistakably tinged with sadness and disappointment, that they presently ceased to be amusing to him. He was beginning to make discoveries: first, that it was by no means an agreeable thing for a manly young man to seek a young woman whom he respected, and voluntarily admit that he had again been guilty of what he knew she looked upon with distrust, not only, but with actual dismay; and second that he had the confession to make much more frequently than he had supposed could possibly be the case; that, in short, the habit which he had supposed such a light one, was growing upon him; that on occasions when he withstood the invitations and temptations, the struggle was a hard one, which he shrank from renewing. Still he made resolves. It was absurd to suppose that he could keep running after Miss Benedict, or sending her notes to say that he had again indulged in a habit that he had assured her was of no consequence, and that he could break in a day if he chose. He knew now that this was folly. It was not to be broken in a day. He began to suspect that possibly he was a slave, with little or no power to break it at all. The tenor of his notes changed steadily. The first one ran thus: "I have to inform your most gracious majesty that I have this day committed the indiscretion of taking about two thirds of a glass of champagne with an old school chum whom I have not seen for six months. It is another chapter of the old story--he 'beguiled me and I did' drink. Of course it was no fault of mine; and it gives me comfort to inform you that the tempter has gone on his way to Chicago, and that I do not expect to see him for another six months. So humbly craving your majesty's pardon for being thus obliged to trouble her--owing to a certain foolish pledge of mine--I remain your humble subject. "HARRY MATTHEWS." The last one she received was briefly this: "_Miss Benedict_:--I have failed again, though I did not mean to do so. I beg you will erase my name from that page, and care nothing more about it or me." Over the first note Claire had lingered with a troubled air, but on this last one there dropped tears. She had adopted Harry by this time as a young brother, and she could not help carrying his peril about in her heart. Still, if he had not gone too far, there was more hope for the writer of this brief note, with its undertone of fierce self-disgust, than for the one who could so merrily confess what he believed was, at the worst, a foible. One evening they walked home together from the church. She was silent, and her heart was heavy. She had caught the odor of wine about him, though he had made a weak effort to conceal it with rich spices. They walked half the distance from the church to the Academy, having spoken nothing beyond an occasional commonplace. Truth to tell, Claire was in doubt what to say, or whether to say anything. She had spoken many words to him; she had written him earnest little notes; what use to say more? It was he who broke the silence, speaking moodily: "It is of no use, Miss Benedict; I shall have to ask you to release me from that pledge. I cannot keep rushing around to the Academy to tell you what befalls me; it is absurd. And--well, the fact is, as I am situated, I simply can not keep from using liquor now and then; oftener, indeed, than I had supposed when I signed that paper. It must have been a great bore to you, and I owe you a thousand apologies; but you see how it is, I must be released and left to myself. I have been true to my promise, as I knew I should be when I made it, but I can't have you troubled any longer; and, as I say, I _have_ to drink occasionally." He did not receive the sort of answer which he had expected. He was prepared for an earnest protest, for an argument; but Claire said, her voice very sad the while: "I know you can not keep from drinking, Harry, and I have known it for a long while." Now, although he had told himself several times in a disgusted way that he was a coward, and a fool, and a slave, and that he did not deserve to have the respect of a lady, his pride was by no means so far gone that he liked to hear the admission from other lips than his own that he was bound in chains which he could not break. "What do you mean?" he asked, haughtily enough. "I mean, Harry, that you are tempted, awfully tempted, to become a drunkard! I mean that I do not think you can help yourself; I think you have gone beyond the line where your strength would be sufficient. You inherit the taste for liquor. Never mind how I learned that; I know it, and have known it for a long time. As surely as Satan lives, he has you in his toils. Oh, Harry!" There were tears in her voice. She was not one who easily lost self-control before others, but this was a subject on which her heart was sore. He did not know how many times she had said to herself: "What if he were my brother, and mamma sat at home watching and praying for him, and he were as he is! And his mother is a widow, and has only this one, and she sits at home and waits!" And this mother's fast-coming agony of discovery had burned into her soul until it is no wonder that the tears choked what else she might have said. But Harry was haughty still. He was more than that, however; he was frightened. If the darkness of the night had not shielded his face from observation, its pallor would have frightened her. He tried, however, to steady his voice as he said: "Miss Benedict, what do you mean? I do not understand. Do you mean that I am foreordained to become a drunkard, and that I can not help myself?" "Oh, Harry! I mean that the great enemy of your soul has discovered just how he can ruin you, body and soul, and he means to do it. You have toyed with him until you can not help yourself. You _can not_, Harry. There is no use to fancy that you can. He has ruined many a young man as self-reliant as you. He is too strong for you, and too mean! He has ways of dissembling that you would scorn. He is not honest with you. He has made you believe what was utterly false. He has you in his toils, and as surely as you are here to-night, just so surely will you fail in the battle with him. You do not know how to cope with Satan; you need not flatter yourself that you do. He has played with many a soul, coaxed it to feel just that sense of superiority over him which you feel, until it was too late, and then laughed at his victim for being a dupe." During the first part of this sentence, Harry Matthews, though startled, was also angry. He had always prided himself on his self-control, upon being able to go just so far in a given direction and no farther unless he chose; and even in this matter, when he had accused himself of being a slave, he had not believed it; he had believed simply that he had discovered himself to be more fond of intoxicants than he had supposed, and that the effect to give them up involved more self-sacrifice than it was worth while to make; and while he was vexed that even this was so, he had honestly believed this to be the whole story. It was not until this moment that the sense of being in actual peril, and being insufficient for his own rescue, rushed over him. I do not know why it did at that time, unless the Holy Spirit saw his opportunity and willed that it should be so. There was almost mortal anguish in the low voice that sounded at last in answer to Claire's cry of fear. "God help me, then! What can I do?" The question surprised Claire, startled her. She had prayed for it, but she was like many another Christian worker in that she had not seemed to expect the answer to her prayer. Verily, He has to be content with exceeding little faith! Claire had expected the blind young man would go on excusing himself, and assuring her of her mistake. None the less was she eager with her answer: "If you only _meant_ that cry! If you only would give up the unequal strife, and stand aside and cry out, 'O Lord, undertake for me'! what a world would be revealed to you. Harry Matthews, there is just One who fought a battle with Satan and came off victor, and there never will be another. The victory must come through Him, or it is at best a very partial, and at all times a doubtful one. In Him are safety and everlasting strength, and outside of Him is danger." She did not say another word, nor did he, other than a half-audible "Good-night!" as he held open the Academy gate for her to pass. She went in feeling frightened over much that she had said. Ought she to have spoken so hopelessly to him? What if he turned in despair, and plunged into excesses such as he had not known before? Men had reformed, and signed the pledge and kept it, apparently without the aid of Christ; at least, they had not owned allegiance to him, though well she knew that his restraining grace was, after all, what kept any man from rushing headlong to ruin. God held back even those who would not own his detaining arm. But she had felt so hopeless in regard to Harry, so certain that nothing short of an acknowledged leaning on Christ would be sufficient for his needs. The more she had prayed for him, the more sure had she been that in Christ alone lay his refuge. She had not meant to say this to him. Yet the thoughts seemed to crowd out of themselves, when he gave them opportunity. Now she went to her room shivering and trembling over the possible results. She had very little opportunity, however, for thought; and there was that awaiting her which was not calculated to quiet her mind. It was Alice Ansted who rose up from before the east window, where a fine view was to be had of the rising moon, and came forward to meet her as she entered her own room. "I beg your pardon for having taken possession. There was company in the parlor, and Mrs. Foster said she thought I might come here and wait for you. Is there another committee meeting this evening? or can I hope to have you to myself for five minutes?" "There is no committee meeting this evening," Clarie said, smiling, "we have been down to measure the platform, and arrange for the organ, but I believe now that everything is done. Take this easy-chair. I am glad you waited for me. There are several things about which I wish to consult you," she added. "They have to do with that church, I know. I shall not let you get started on that topic. I should be perfectly certain not to get you back to any other to-night; and I want to do the talking myself. I can not see why you care so much for that church." Claire laughed. "We care for anything for which we work, and especially for which we sacrifice a little, you know. Why, you care for it yourself. Don't you think you do, a little?" "I care for you, and for your opinion. I have been telling mamma only this evening, that when the old barn gets fixed up, I believe I will go down there to church. I am not so fond of riding that I care to take an eight-mile ride every Sunday; besides, I think it looks silly. Mamma thinks we are all becoming idiotic, for all the daughters and the son sided with me, and papa said he didn't care a rush light which we did; that it would be easier for the horses to come down here." "Good news," said Claire, brightly. "I have been hoping for something of the kind. Then you will begin to attend the prayer-meeting, of course, and it does need you so much!" "I'm sure I don't see why I should. I never attended prayer-meeting in town, and I have belonged to that church for years. The idea of _my_ helping along a prayer-meeting! You do have some very absurd ideas, Claire Benedict, though I may as well admit that the only reason I would have for coming here to church would be to give you pleasure. But this is not in the least what I came to talk to you about, I knew we should get on that subject, and never get away from it." "Let us go right away from it, and tell me, please, just what you want to talk about. Only let me say this one little thing: I want you to come down to prayer-meeting next Wednesday evening, and discover in how many ways you can help it. Now I am ready." CHAPTER XXII. NEW LINES OF WORK. BUT Alice hesitated. The subject, whatever it was that she wanted to talk about, evidently had its embarrassing side. Now that Claire sat in expectant silence, she grew silent too, and looked down, and toyed with the fringe of her wrap, her face in a frown that indicated either perplexity or distrust. "I don't know why I should come to you," she said, at last, speaking half-angrily; "I suppose I am a simpleton, and shall get little thanks for any interference, yet it certainly seems to me as though something ought to be done, and as though you might do it." "If there is any way in which I can help you," Claire said, "you hardly need to have me say how glad I shall be to do so." "Would you, I wonder? Would you help in a perplexity that seems to me to be growing into a downright danger, and which I more than half suspect you could avert?" There was something so significant in her tone, that Claire looked at her in wonderment for a moment, then said, choosing her words with care: "You surely know that I would be only too glad to help you in any way that was right, and of course you would not ask me to do anything that I thought wrong." "Oh, I'm not so sure of that. You have such peculiar ideas of right and wrong. They are not according to my standard, I presume. How I wish I knew, without telling you, just what you would think right; it would settle several questions for me, or else it would unsettle me, for I might not want to do what was right, you see, any more than you would want to do what was wrong." "I am not a witch," said Claire, lightly, "and I confess that I have no more idea what you mean than if you were speaking in Sanscrit. Suppose you speak English for a few minutes, my friend, and enlighten me." "I will, presently. I want to ask you a few general questions first, which have nothing special to do with the question at hand. Would you marry a man who was not a Christian?" "No," said Claire, wondering, startled yet nevertheless prompt enough with her answer; "that is, I do not now see how I could. In the first place, I would not be likely to have the opportunity; for I could not be sufficiently interested in a man who had no sympathy with me in these vital questions, to ever reach the point as to my possible opportunities and duties." "Oh, well, that doesn't materially enlighten me. You see I am talking about people who _could_ become sufficiently interested to reach a great many questionings, and not know what to do with them. Let me suppose a case. We will say the people live in China, and become deeply interested in each other. In the course of time one of them goes to the Fiji Islands for instance, and meets a missionary, and comes somewhat under her influence--enough, we will say, to make her uncomfortable and to make her suspect that she is a good deal of a heathen herself, though she was a member in good and regular standing of a church in China. To make the circumstances more interesting you may suppose that one of the converted heathen begins to interest himself in her, and to enlighten her as to the power of genuine religion over the heathen heart and mind to such an extent that she is almost sure she knows nothing about it experimentally; and at the same time has a yearning desire to know and to receive the mysterious _something_ which she discovers in this one. We will also suppose that she receives letters from China occasionally, which show her that the other party has met neither missionary nor heathen to impress him in any way, and that his plans and determinations are all of the earth and decidedly earthy, and yet that he is disposed to think that the lady ought to be thinking about returning to China, and joining him in his effort to have a good time. What, in your estimation, ought the half-awakened Fiji resident to do?" "Alice, is some not very distant city representing China? and is South Plains Fiji? and is Bud the converted heathen?" "There is enough witch about you to have secured you a very warm experience in the olden days. Never mind translating, if you please; this was not to be in English. What ought the Fiji to do?" "I should think there could be no question. A half-awakened person would still be in danger of dropping back into darkness, and should, as surely as she believes in the petition, 'lead me not into temptation,' guard against anything that would be a contradiction to that prayer." "Well, but suppose this half-awakened person were married to the party in China--what then?" "That would be a very different matter. The irrevocable vows would have been taken before the world; the 'until death do you part' would have been accepted, and there would be no liberty of choice." "I don't see the reasoning clearly. Suppose a person should take a vow to commit murder, and announce her determination before the world to do so, with as solemn a vow as you please, ought her conscience to hold her? Not," she added, with a slight and embarrassed laugh, "that I would put the idea of murder as a parallel case with the other imagining. I don't mean anything, you know, by all this, I am simply dealing with some imaginary people in China." But Claire did not smile, and held herself carefully to the analogy of the illustration: "You are supposing a moral impossibility, Alice. No one would be allowed to take a public and solemn oath to commit murder. The very oath would be a violation of the laws of God and of the land; but in the other case, the oath taken professes to be in keeping with God's revealed will and with the demands of respectable society. Surely, you see what an infinite difference this would make." "Ah, yes, of course. Well, I'll suppose one thing more. For purposes of convenience, let us have these two people engaged to each other, but the pledge not consummated before the public--what then?" But over this question Claire kept a troubled silence. "I do not know," she said, at last; "I am not sure how that ought to be answered. Perhaps it is one of the things which each individual is called upon to answer for himself, or herself, taking it to God for special light. A betrothal seems to me a very solemn thing, not to be either entered into, or broken, lightly, and yet I can conceive of circumstances wherein it would be right to break the pledge--where it was wrong ever to have made it--and two wrongs cannot make a right, you know. But Alice, this is dangerous ground. I am almost inclined to think it is ground where a third party, on the human side, should not intermeddle; at least, unless it is one who has far more wisdom than I. It is not possible for me to advise you in this." "You _have_ advised me," Alice said, with exceeding gravity. "All I wanted was your individual opinion, and that you have given plainly, though you may not be aware of it. When one knows one is doing a thing that is wrong, I suppose the time has come to draw back." "If the drawing back can right the wrong." "It can help toward it. These people--who live in China, remember--are perhaps among those who ought never to have made the pledge. However, let us drop them. I want to talk to you about a more important matter." Still she did not talk, but relapsed again into troubled silence, and Claire, not knowing what to say, waited, and said nothing. "Would you marry a man, if you thought you might possibly be the means of saving his soul?" Claire was startled and a trifle disturbed to think that the conversation was still to run in a channel with which she was so unfamiliar. Still, this first question was comparatively easy to deal with. "That might depend on whether I could do so without assuming false vows. I could not promise a lie for the sake of saving any soul. Besides, it being wrong in itself, I would have no reason to hope that it would be productive of any good, for God does not save souls by means which are sinful. Why do you ask me all these questions, Alice? I have no experience, and am not wise. I wish you would seek a better counselor." "Never mind, I have all the counsel I desire. I am not talking about those people in China any more, though you think I am. I was thinking of you, and of somebody who is in danger, and whom I believe you could save, but I know you won't--at least not in that way. Claire Benedict, I am troubled about my brother. Tell me this, do you know that he is in danger?" "Yes," said Claire, her voice low and troubled. "Do you know from what source I mean?" "I think I do." "I thought you did else I am not sure that my pride would have allowed me to open my lips. Well, do you know there is something you might do to help him?" "Alice." "No, you are not to interrupt me. I don't mean anything insulting. There are ways of which I would be more sure, and they are connected with you, but I know they are out of the question. I am not going to talk of them. But there is something I want you to do. I want you to talk with mamma. It is of no use for me to say a word to her. There are family reasons why she is specially vexed with me just now, and will not listen reasonably to anything that I might say. But she respects you, and likes you, and you have more or less influence over her. Are you willing to use it for Louis' sake?" "But, my dear Alice, I do not understand you in the least. What could I say to your mother that she does not already know? and in any case, how could she materially help your brother? He needs the help of his own will." "That is true, but there are ways in which mamma might help him, if she would. I can tell you of some. In the first place, you are mistaken as to her knowledge. She knows, it is true, that he takes more wine occasionally than is good for him, and has violent headaches in consequence; but she does not know that two nights in a week, at least, he comes home intoxicated! Isn't that a terrible thing to say of one's brother? What has become of the Ansted pride, when I can say it to almost a stranger?" "Why does not your mother know?" "Partly because she is blind, and partly because I have promised Louis not to tell her, and partly because there are reasons why it would be especially hard on my mother to have this knowledge brought to her through me. You see there are reasons enough. Now for what she could do. Claire, she fairly drives him into temptation. There is a certain house in the city which she is very anxious to see united to ours. She contrives daily pretexts for sending Louis there, and it is almost impossible for him to go there without coming home the worse for liquor. I _wish_ I could talk more plainly to you. I will tell you this. There is a brother as well as a sister in that house, and it has been a pet dream of my mother to exchange the sons and daughters. It is a romantic, Old World scheme, grown up with the families from their early days; and mamma, who has never been accustomed to having her plans thwarted, is in danger of seeing all of these come to naught, and more than half believes that I am plotting against it for Louis, having first shown myself to be an undutiful and ungrateful daughter. Do you see how entirely my tongue is silenced? I wonder if you do understand?" "I understand, my dear friend, and I thank you for your confidence; but I do not see how a stranger can help, or indeed, can interfere in any way, without being guilty of gross rudeness. How could I hope to approach your mother on such subjects as these, without having her feel herself insulted?" Alice made a gesture of impatience. "You _can not_," she said, "if you think more of the irritable words that a troubled mother may say to you than you do of a soul in peril; but I did not think you were of that sort." Claire waited a moment before replying. "I think I may be trusted to try to do what seems right, even though it were personally hard," she said at last, speaking very gently; "but, Alice, I do not understand how words of mine could do other than mischief." "I can show you. This family, I have told you, is a continual snare to Louis. He simply can not go there without being led into great temptation, and mamma is responsible for the most of his visits. It would not be difficult for Louis to remain away, if mamma did not make errands for him. He would go abroad with the Husons next week, and be safe from this and many other temptations, or he would go to the Rocky Mountains with Harold Chessney--and he could not be in better society--if mamma would give her consent, and she would, if she could be made to realize his peril--if she knew that outsiders were talking about it. Don't you see? "Now, who is going to enlighten her? I am not in favor--less so just at present than ever before; the girls, poor young things, do not know of our disgrace, and would have no influence with mamma if they did, and papa would like the alliance from a business point of view as well as mamma would from a romantic and fashionable one. Do you see the accumulation of troubles? and do you imagine, I wonder, what it is to _me_, when I have humbled myself to tell it all to you?" "And this young lady?" said Claire, ignoring the personal questions. "Do you feel sure that there is no hope of help from that source? Is not her interest deep enough and her influence strong enough to come to the rescue if she fully understood?" There was again that gesture of extreme impatience. "That young lady! She has no more character than a painted doll! Claire Benedict, she is in as great danger to-day as Louis is, and from the same source! She dances every night, and buoys up her flagging strength by stimulants every day. I have seen her repeatedly when she was so excited with wine that I knew she did not know what she was saying." "Is it possible!" This was Claire's startled exclamation. "It is not only possible, but is an almost daily occurrence. And she fills the glass with her own silly little hand, which trembles at the moment with the excitement of wine, and holds it to my brother, and he, poor, foolish boy! accepts it because he knows that he likes it better than anything else in the world--at least, that is attainable. Claire, if my mother could be prevailed upon to urge Louis to go away with Harold Chessney, I believe he might be saved." "Who is Harold Chessney?" "He is one of God's saints, made for the purpose of showing us what a man might be, if he would. Claire Benedict, will you try?" CHAPTER XXIII. UNPALATABLE TRUTHS. "YES," said Claire, "I will try." But she said it with a long-drawn sigh. This was work that was utterly distasteful to her, and she saw but little hope of accomplishing anything by attempting it. She wanted to fight the demon of alcohol wherever found--at least, she had thought that she did; but who would have supposed that it could bring her into such strange contact with Mrs. Russel Ansted? In order that you may understand why this plan of rescue had suggested itself to Alice Ansted's mind, it will be necessary to explain that the acquaintance which had been commenced by accident had been allowed to mature into what might almost be called friendship. At least, it had pleased Mrs. Ansted to encourage the intimacy between her young people and the attractive music-teacher. "It is not as though she had been simply a music-teacher, and nothing else, all her life," was Mrs. Ansted wont to explain to her city friends. "She is a daughter of the Boston Benedicts, and, of course, her opportunities have been rare. She is simply faultless in her manners; the girls learn a great deal from her, and are devoted to her, and she really is a charming companion. You know in the country we have no society." So Claire had been made almost oppressively welcome to the lovely house on the hill, and the sleigh or the carriage had been sent for her many times when she could not go, and in many kind and pleasant ways had the entire family sought to show their interest in her society. Mrs. Ansted, indeed, patronized her to such an extent that Alice had made herself imagine that in this direction might be found the light which would open the mother's eyes to certain things which she ought to see and did not. Claire did not share her hopes. She had always felt herself held back from real heart intimacy with the fair and worldly woman; had always detected the tinge of patronage in the kindness shown her, and had even smiled sometimes at the thought of how the very attentions which she received placidly, and, in a sense gratefully, would chafe her hot-headed young sister Dora. It had given her joy of heart and cause for gratitude to realize that she herself had been lifted above such chafings. There were trials in her lot, but Mrs. Ansted's patronage was not one of them. Still it made her feel that little would be gained by attempted interference in her family affairs. Under the circumstances, she felt herself intrusive, yet determined to submit and thereby convince Alice of her willingness and powerlessness. The most she had to fear was a little drawing up of the aristocratic shoulders, and a cold and courteous hint that some things belonged exclusively to the domain of very close friendship. It was on the following Saturday that opportunity offered for an attempt. Claire was spending the day with the Ansteds; the invitation had come from the mother, and was unusually cordial. Louis was in town, would probably remain over the Sabbath, and the girls were lonely. The mother did not know how much more readily the invitation was accepted because Louis was in town. They were in Mrs. Ansted's own sitting-room. The young girls had been called to the sewing-room at the mandate of the dressmaker, and Alice, telegraphing Claire that now was her opportunity, slipped away. Have you ever observed how much harder it becomes to set about a delicate and embarrassing duty when circumstances have been carefully made for you, and you are left to stare in the face the thought "I am to do this thing, _now_; it is expected of me?" Immediately Claire began to feel that it would be preposterous in her to try to advise or enlighten Mrs. Ansted. But that lady unconsciously helped her by asking: "Did you ever meet Mr. Harold Chessney in Boston? I believe he calls that his home, though he is abroad a great deal. I wish he were abroad now, instead of planning an excursion to the Rocky Mountains and all sorts of out-of-the-world places, and putting Louis into a fever to accompany him. I have a horror of those Western expeditions entered into by young men. Louis will not go contrary to my approval, however, so I need not worry about it. It is a great comfort to a mother to have a dutiful son, my dear." "It must be," Claire hastened to say, but added that she should think it would be a delightful trip for a young man, and a rare opportunity to see his own country. She was not personally acquainted with Mr. Chessney, but she had heard him very highly spoken of. "Oh, he is perfection, I suppose," Mrs. Ansted said carelessly; "too perfect, my dear, for ordinary flesh and blood. He is very wealthy and very eccentric; has innumerable ways for wasting his money on savages, and all that sort of thing. I should really almost fear his influence over Louis, he is such an impressible boy. Harold might fancy it his duty to become a home missionary." This last was spoken with a little satisfied laugh, as though Louis Ansted's position was too well assured, after all, to suggest any reasonable fears of his sinking to the level of a home missionary! The matron speedily composed her face, however, and added: "Harold is a magnificent man, I have no doubt, and if Louis were a young man of depraved tendencies and low tastes, probably I should hope for nothing better than to exile him for awhile with such a guard; but in his position, and with his prospects, the idea is, of course, absurd. I don't know what fancies Alice has in mind, the child seems quite to favor Louis' going. Alice is a little inclined to be fanatical, I am afraid, in some things. I hope you will not encourage such tendencies, my dear. I have seen with pleasure that she is becoming more interested in religion, and disposed to help poor Bud, though she has chosen some foolish ways of doing that--but still it is quite as it should be to rouse to the importance of these things; I have been pained with her indifference in the past. However, we should not carry anything to extremes, you know." They were not getting on. Claire did not feel like a diplomatist. She was disposed to be straightforward. Would not simple truth serve her purpose in this case? At least, it would be less humiliating than to try to worm herself into family confidences. So she spoke her plain question: "Mrs. Ansted, has it never seemed to you that it would be well for Louis to get away for a time from some of his associates who tempt him in the direction in which he is least able to bear temptation?" Plain English was not palatable, or else it was not understood. Two red spots glowed on the mother's cheek, but her eyes were cold. "And what is that, if you please? I was not aware that my son was particularly susceptible to any temptation." Could this be true? Did she not know that he was tempted to reel home at midnight like a common drunkard? If so, what an awful revelation for a stranger to make! Claire hesitated, and the lady looked steadily at her and waited. Simple truth should serve her again; it would be insulting to offer anything else. "Mrs. Ansted, you will pardon me for referring to it, but I know from your son's own statements that he is tempted in the direction of liquor, and that he finds it hard to resist these temptations, and I am afraid he is in great danger. If I were his mother, and had confidence in this Mr. Chessney, I should beg him to go out with him, and break away from his present surroundings." She was deceived in the mother--in the calm with which she listened to these words. She did not cry out like one amazed and hurt, nor did she look like one who was being shocked into a faint; and Claire, watching her, hurried on, determined to make her disagreeable revelations as brief as she could, and then to get away from the subject. Surely the mother could not feel much humiliated before her, when she confessed that she had received these intimations from the son. But directly her voice ceased, the mother arose, her own tones low and ladylike as usual: "I am not aware, Miss Benedict, that our kind treatment of you can have furnished any excuse for this direct and open insult. I did not know that you had succeeded in securing my son's confidence to such a degree that he had been led to traduce his friends. I can not imagine his motive; but allow me to say that yours is plain, and will fail. The lady to whom Mr. Louis Ansted has been paying special attention for years, can not be thrown off, even by his taking a trip to the Rocky Mountains; and if you hope to ingratiate yourself in the mother's heart by trying to arouse her fears, you have made a grievous mistake. My daughters are evidently more susceptible, and I now understand some things that were before mysterious to me. "I am sorry for you, Miss Benedict. I can well imagine that it is a hard thing to be poor; but it is a pity to add disgrace to poverty. You have been unwise to try to work up fanatical ideas on my son. We are none of us temperance fanatics." There was a dangerous fire in Claire's eyes, but she struggled to keep back the words that hurried forward, clamoring to be spoken. This woman before her was old enough to be her mother, and was the mother of a young man whom she would try to save. Besides, she had the force of habit to help her. The controlled voice which belongs to the cultured lady, even under strong provocation, was as much a part of her as it was of Mrs. Ansted. "I will pass by your personalities, Mrs. Ansted, as unworthy of you, and ask you to pardon my apparent intrusion into family affairs, on the sole ground that I have come into possession of some knowledge concerning your son's danger which I have reason to believe you do not possess, and I thought I ought, as a Christian woman, to warn you." Mrs. Ansted was already repenting of some of her words--beginning, that is, to realize that she had been unnecessarily insulting to a guest in her own home, and one whom her son, as well as her daughters, liked and admired. She was not less angry, but more controlled. "Possibly you mean well," she said, dropping into the patronizing tone which was habitual, "and I may have spoken too plainly, in my haste; a mother's feelings, when she considers the characters of her children insulted, are sometimes not sufficiently held in check. We will conclude, Miss Benedict, that your motive was good, though your words were unfortunate, and your conclusions unwarrantable. My son is entirely capable of taking care of himself. If you are really sincere in supposing him to be in danger, because he takes an occasional glass of wine, it only proves you to be lamentably ignorant of the customs of polite society. And now I must beg you to excuse me. Excitement always wearies me, and I feel that I must lie down for awhile. I presume my daughter will be in soon." And Claire was left alone to gather her startled thoughts and determine what to do next. She was greatly excited. In all her imaginings of a mother's heart, nothing of this kind had occurred. It had been a serious failure, as she had feared it would be, but not of the kind which she had planned. She looked about her for paper on which to write a line to Alice; then determined that she would do no such thing, lest Alice might have to bear blame in consequence. She would just slip quietly away, and go home and think. It was not clear in her mind what ought to be said to Alice. She had been insulted, and by Alice's mother, and she could not longer remain a guest in the house; but perhaps it was not necessary that Alice should know all this. She must wait, and think, and pray. At least, it would not be wise to make any expression about Mrs. Ansted until she could think less bitterly of the words spoken to her; for it is by no means a pleasant thing to be misjudged, and it is especially difficult to keep one's mouth closed when one has that to tell which would silence all the hints forever. It had required all the self-control which Claire possessed not to tell Mrs. Ansted to ask her son whether the insinuations which had been flung at her meant anything. Certainly she was not in the mood to have an interview with Alice. She hastily and quietly possessed herself of her wraps, and stole out of the house and down the avenue which had in the few weeks past become so familiar to her. Bud saw her from the distant stables, but he only made her a most respectful bow. It was no strange sight to him. He knew that she came and went often during these days; he did not know she was thinking that in all probability she would never walk down that avenue again. There is no use explaining to you that she cried when she reached home; cried bitterly, and with a perfect abandon, as though her heart were broken. She was young and had not had many hard words to bear, and all her sharp thrusts from life had come upon her lately; her knowledge of human nature had been increasing with painful rapidity, and there were times when she shrank from it all, and wanted to go to her father. But after the crying--or, indeed, in the very midst of it--she prayed: for herself first--she felt so sore, and ill-used, and friendless; then for Louis Ansted--the special danger and the special friendlessness of a man with such a mother, took hold of her with power, and at last she prayed for the mother; not _at_ her, but for her. There is a way of praying about a soul with whom we are offended--or, at least, we call it praying--which is simply pouring out one's knowledge of that person's shortcomings in an almost vindictive way before the One whom we almost unconsciously feel ought to come to our help and administer rebuke. Claire honestly prayed for Louis Ansted's mother. Her eyes must be opened, but how? Must it be that they were to be opened by the utter ruin of her only son? That this might not be necessary, Claire prayed, and rose up presently, almost forgetful that she had received deep wounds, and quite ready to shield that mother's shortcomings from her children. CHAPTER XXIV. RECOGNITION. AND now I desire you to imagine the worshipers gathered one morning in the little church at South Plains. The winter over and gone; the time of the singing of birds and of sweet-scented flowers had come. The marvel of the annual resurrection from the grave of winter was being lived over again in nature. But within the sanctuary it seemed more than resurrection, almost creation. Was it the same church at all? What had become of the dusty floors, and the smoky walls, and the rusty stove-pipe, and the smoking stoves, and the square table, and the swaying, faded, red curtains, and the faded and worn ingrain rag which had covered the platform, and the dust, and the rust and the dreariness? What a strange effect that paper of a quiet tint, and yet with a suggestion of sunlight in it, had on those hitherto bare and smoky walls! How high the frescoing made the ceiling look! What an excellent imitation of "real" were the carefully-grained seats! How perfectly the carpet harmonized in pattern and coloring with the paper on the walls! Small wonder, this last, if you had known how many patient hours mamma and Dora had spent in reaching the important decision, "Which shall we send?" As for the pulpit, it was "real," without any paint about it, and so neat, and pretty, and graceful, that the girls had exhausted all adjectives on it. And really, the stove-pipe, though it wandered about according to some wild freak that was considered necessary in order to "draw," did not look so objectionable now that it was real Russia; and nothing could glow more brilliantly than the stoves, which smoked no more. Engineer Bud had been a success. Still, I know that I can not make you realize the difference in that church. Unless you were there on that dreary winter morning when Claire Benedict first looked upon it with utter sinking of heart, and then were there again on that spring morning, and caught the breath of the flowers, and saw the shimmer of awakened life over everything within and without, you will never understand it. Unless, indeed, you look up some other man-forsaken sanctuary, and try the delightful experiment of transformation. There were those in South Plains who knew and felt the difference. They gathered softly, the worshipers, the men on tiptoe, though they need not have done that, for the heavy carpet gave back no sound of footfall, but it was one of their ways of expressing admiration and reverence. They gave quick, admiring, amazed glances about them, then riveted their eyes, as the workers had meant they should, on the motto which glowed before them, strung from lamp to lamp in some spirit-like fashion which those unacquainted with the management of silver ware cannot comprehend, and which made the triumphant announcement: "THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE." And I tell you that, so much has the outward and tangible to do with our spiritual vision, there were those present who grasped this stupendous fact for the first time. The organ squeaked no more. It had only been a matter of a drop of oil which quieted that, and yet that congregation had actually sat under its squeak almost for years! So many things in this world squeak for the want of a thoughtful hand to administer a drop of oil! Then the choir--that almost hardest thing in country or city to manage successfully--had been transformed. There had been no violent wrenches; occasionally it happens that a combination of circumstances bring about unlooked-for and delightful results. The discordant alto had married, bless her, and gone to another town; the flatting tenor had sprained his ankle, poor man, and must needs abide at home. The tremendous bass had that rare quality, common-sense, and discovered on the evening of the concert that South Plains had taken a musical prize, and was himself the one to propose that Miss Benedict and her class should be invited to join the choir; and further, that Miss Benedict should be requested to drill the choir, and had put himself under training, and his voice being really grand, he bade fair, under culture, to become the power in song that God designed. I do not know whether it was accident, or a blessed design, that the much astonished, much-encouraged, young-old minister, in a new coat which was an Easter gift from the young men of his congregation, read the hymn-- I love her gates, I love the road; The church adorned with grace, Stands like a palace built for God, To show his milder face. But I know that he read it as that people had never heard him read a hymn before, with an unction and a quiver of feeling which said almost as plainly as words: "The Lord reigneth, and this is his holy temple, and I am his chosen mouthpiece to this people: I had almost forgotten it, but it is so." Then when that reconstructed choir rolled out the words, led by the centre voice of exquisite melody and power, the worshipers felt the sentiment of the hymn fill their hearts, and admitted that they did love her gates, and that they must rouse up and show their love as they had not done heretofore. Ah! there was more in that church that day than new carpet, and new furniture, and paint, and paper, and light and beauty. These were all well enough, and Claire Benedict's sense of the fitness of things rejoiced in them all. But what were they to the thrill in her heart as she heard the minister read among the names announced for reception into the visible communion of the church, that of Hubbard Myers. There were some who did not know to whom the name belonged; and it was not surprising, for Hubbard Myers had been called only Bud for so many years, the wonder was that he remembered his name himself. There had been great astonishment among some, and not a little shaking of heads, when Bud presented himself as a candidate for church-membership. It had not been supposed that he had intellect enough to understand the meaning of the step. There was close questioning on the part of the minister, not for himself alone, but for the enlightenment of others; but before the examination closed, more than one of the listeners drew out their red handkerchiefs, and blew their noses suspiciously, and at last, one of the most stolid of them remarked: "It is my opinion, brethren, that the boy has been taught of God, and I think we would do well to accept him without any further delay." And they did. There were other trophies. Where would be the church of Christ without its living, working members? One who was pledged to prefer Jerusalem above her chief joy, had not been, and in the very nature of the case, _could not_ have been, content with toiling simply for the outward adorning of the temple. A history of the quiet work which had been done in hearts during that one winter would fill a volume. I have but given you a hint of it here and there. The head of the Church has the complete record. There is perhaps little need that I should try to give you even scattered notes of it. Yet there was one name which made the tears come very near to falling, as Claire listened for it, fearful that it might not come, and at the same moment hopeful for it. It was only a transferral from a church in the city to membership with the one at South Plains, and it was only Alice Ansted. Her parents were not even present in the church. But Claire knew that a visible union with the church of Christ meant to Alice Ansted to-day what it never had before. And she knew that the two girls, Fanny and Ella Ansted, who sat and cried, in the pew beside Alice, were only left out because parental authority had asserted itself, and said they were not to come. Claire knew that they had united themselves with the great Head, and were members of the church in the "Jerusalem which is above and is free." They could afford to bide their time. And there was another still which gave Claire's heart a peculiar thrill of joy. Not that his name was read, or that many, as yet, knew about Satan's defeat with him. It had been recent, and the public recognition of the fact was yet to come. But the Lord Jesus Christ knew, for he had been the victor. It was only the night before, as they were about to leave the reconstructed church, and Mary Burton, with a long-drawn breath of repressed excitement, had declared that everything was ready for to-morrow, and that the victory was complete, that Harry Matthews had bent toward Claire and murmured: "Miss Benedict, there has been another victory. You will know that it is far more wonderful than this. He has 'undertaken' for me." There had only been time to grasp his hand and flash back an answer from sympathetic eyes, but there was a song in her heart this morning over the news. Occasionally she glanced at Harry, and told herself that she would have known, just to look at him, that the highest experience this life has for us had come to him. The little church was unusually full on this triumphant morning, and yet most of the faces were known to Claire. Strangers were not frequent at South Plains. Yet there was one, a gentleman, who gave that reverent heed to the service which even among strangers distinguishes those who really join in worship from those who merely look on. This man joined, and with his heart. Claire was sure of it. It was this man that Harry Matthews watched, a satisfied smile on his face the while. Harry could imagine just how surprised the stranger was. On the evening before, when he had reached his room, after giving his wonderful news to Claire, instead of finding it in darkness, his kerosene lamp had been turned to its highest capacity, and a gentleman sat in front of his little stove, feeding it from time to time, apparently for the sole purpose of brightening the somewhat dismal room. "Halloo!" had been Harry's greeting. "Just so," was the quiet response. "You did not know you had company, did you, my boy?" And then there had been such eager grasping of hands, and such lighting up of faces, as evinced the satisfaction of both parties at meeting. For this was Harry Matthews' favorite uncle, and he must lately have come from the home where Harry's mother waited for him. Of course there was a high-tide of question and answer at once. It was not until an hour afterward that Harry reached the subject of which he had instantly thought, on seeing his uncle. "Uncle Harold, didn't you know the Benedicts?" "What Benedicts?" "Why, the Boston ones. Sydney L. He failed, and died, less than a year ago, don't you remember?" "I remember. I knew him well. I met him abroad." "And didn't you know his daughter?" "I knew that he had a daughter, and, in fact, I think I saw her once; but we were not acquainted." "Why, I wonder?" "Why?" with a slightly-curious laugh. "There might be many reasons, I am sure. Boston spreads over a good deal of ground. Besides, you know I never spent a great deal of time in Boston, and I am not a society man. Why do you ask?" "No reason in particular; only the lady is here, and I thought if you were old acquaintances, it would be pleasant to meet her." "Here in South Plains! What in the world is she doing here?" "Teaching music." "I wonder if this is where she has hidden herself! I occasionally hear queries as to what has become of her, but I believe I never met a person who knew. No, I don't suppose there would be any mutual pleasure in a meeting. I may be said to be a stranger. I have not the least idea how she looks; and I may never have met her, though I think I did somewhere. I remember having a passing interest in seeing how a daughter of Sydney Benedict would look. He was a grand man, but I suspected that his daughter was a butterfly of fashion. She lived in the very centre of that sort of thing, and her father was supposed to have immense wealth. I suppose she is a poor, crushed little morsel, done up in crape and disappointment. I am always sorry for music-scholars who have to take broken-down ladies for teachers. Still, I don't know but I would like to shake hands with her for her father's sake. Have you met her?" "I should say I had! but I don't believe you ever have. You couldn't draw such a queer picture of her as that, if you had ever seen her. She doesn't wear crape at all. Somebody told me she did not believe in mourning for people who had gone to heaven; at least, not in putting on black clothes and looking doleful, you know. And as to being crushed! why, uncle Harold, she is the brightest, sweetest, grandest girl I ever heard of in all my life." "Possible!" said his uncle, with a good-humored laugh. "Why, my boy, she must be several years older than you! What does this mean?" "Oh, nonsense!" was the impatient reply of the excited young man. "It is just as evident as can be, that you don't know what you are talking about. If you had been here this winter, and watched things work, and known the hand that she had in it all, why--look here! you wait until to-morrow; I can show you a few things, I fancy." Whereupon he immediately closed his lips; and although his uncle pretended to be extremely curious, and to be unable to wait until morning for light, no hints or questions could draw out further information in the same direction. CHAPTER XXV. DANGERS SEEN AND UNSEEN. IT was this man, then, to whom Harry Matthews' eyes often wandered during that morning service. The look of profound amazement which had settled on his uncle's face after the first sweeping glance which he gave the little church, had caused Harry the keenest satisfaction. The more so that during the morning he had been addressed after this fashion: "The only regret I had, when I found that I could drop off at South Plains and spend a day or two, was that it was Saturday, and the Sabbath would have to be spent in that forlorn little box where you go to church. I have vivid recollections of the day I spent with you a year ago. Harry, my boy, I don't like to think of your Sabbaths being passed amid such unpleasant surroundings. I shall be glad when your engagement here closes. You don't think of renewing it, I hope? I have plans which I want to talk over with you to-morrow?" But Harry had been too full of the surprise in store, to make any reply to these questionings, other than to say: "Come on, uncle Harold; I sing in the choir, and I promised to be there in good time." None the less was he watching for that first look, and it satisfied him. He wanted to laugh outright, but of course he did no such thing; instead, he seated his amazed relative in one of the best pews, then took his place in the choir, all of his face save his eyes in decorous repose. All the bright Sabbath afternoon they sat together, uncle and nephew; the one an eager narrator, the other an attentive listener. Every step of the colossal plan, as it appeared to others, and was matured and carried out by the unfaltering zeal of Claire Benedict, was detailed for the uncle's benefit. And certainly Claire's reputation did not suffer in the young man's hands. He could not help glorifying her. None knew better than he, what she had been to him; but of this more sacred story he as yet said nothing. Its time was to come. "Why, uncle Harold, you remember Bud," he burst forth afresh after a moment's silence, "that queer fellow who worked for the Ansteds; he came down here that night you spent here last spring, with papers, you know, for Mr. Ansted, and you talked with him a little, and laughed so over his queer notions. Remember? "Well, sir, that fellow is simply made over! It is a great deal more wonderful than the church! We used to think he was not more than half-witted. I'll tell you what it is: I shouldn't wonder if it turned out that he was double-witted. You didn't recognize his name to-day, of course; it is a wonder that he did himself. Hubbard Myers, that's the boy. Yes, sir, he has joined the church; and a help he will be to it, too. Uncle Harold, you ought to hear him pray! He says queer things even in prayer; at least, they sound queer; but in spite of yourself you can not help wondering sometimes whether it is not because he has gotten ahead of all the rest, and sees things that they don't understand. I believe he thinks Miss Benedict is an angel sent here from heaven to help him. That's no wonder, though; perhaps she is; anyhow, she has helped him as well, and perhaps better than a real angel could have done; and she is the first one who ever took any notice of him, or remembered that he had a soul." It is no special wonder that the uncle was deeply interested in this story. It told more than Harry suspected. How came this gay young nephew, who had cost him many sleepless nights, to be sufficiently familiar with a prayer-meeting to know who prayed, or how? He studied the bright face before him most attentively. It was changed, certainly; he had felt the change in the boy all day. What was it? How much did it mean? There had certainly been need for change. It made his heart beat fast to think of Harry's mother, and the possibility of news for her such as would make her feel young again. "Harry," he said gently, "do you know, I half hope that I have not heard the best yet of this wonderful story; that there has been another 'making over.' How is it, my boy?" A bright flush mantled Harry's face as he bent his eyes closer over the paper on which he was scribbling his own and his uncle's names with all sorts of flourishes. Suddenly he raised his head, and looked full into the kind eyes bent wistfully on him, and smiled: "I don't know why I should hesitate to tell you that, I am sure," he said, speaking in a firm, manly tone. "It is true enough. I have been made over, I believe. Certainly nobody ever needed it more, and nobody ever struggled harder against it, as you very well know. At least, you know part; but I have been lower down than you think, uncle Harold. Talk about angels! I know that I don't see how any angel can ever do more for me than Miss Benedict has done! I've engaged for life as a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. And I owe more to Miss Benedict, this minute, than I do to any human being, not excepting even you and my mother." The uncle was out of his chair by this time, one hand on the shoulder of his dear boy, while he held out the other, which was promptly grasped; but he could not speak yet, and he could not see for the tears. This young fellow was very dear to him, and the waiting had been long. "God bless you!" he said at last, his lips quivering, and unable to utter another word. When he could speak again he said: "My dear boy, have you told your mother?" "Not yet," said Harry, his eyes shining, "but you can be sure that I am going to. You see, Uncle Harold, the articles of surrender were only signed, sealed and delivered, night before last in the middle of the night. Since then I have not had a moment's time that belonged to me; but I'll write her such a letter as she has never had from me." While the uncle walked the parlor of the boarding-house, and waited for his nephew to make ready for evening service, he had some questions to settle which were personal. He became aware of the fact that he had certainly jumped to conclusions regarding some of the workers in the Master's vineyard which were apparently without foundation. Here was this Miss Benedict. He had heard her name mentioned frequently in the days gone by, and always as one of the dependences of the church to which she belonged; and yet he had always thought of her with curling lip. "Workers!" he had told himself, being mentally very sarcastic, "yes, didn't all the initiated know what that meant when applied to a fashionable young lady who lived in an elegant home and mingled with the fashionable world? It meant that she helped at the fancy fairs, and festivals, and bazaars, and what not? Worked them up, probably, with all their accompanying train of evils. It meant that she was a district visitor, perhaps, and left a tract on 'Redeeming the Time' in a home where they were starving for lack of employment, and needed a loaf of bread." He had seen workers of that sort, and he found it difficult to feel for them anything but contempt. The thing for which he was now to take himself to task was the fact that he had classed Claire Benedict among these, knowing nothing of her, meantime, save that she was a member of a fashionable up-town church; and that, too, after knowing her father, and singling him out as a man among thousands. The simple truth was, that he had imagined a character of which he disapproved, and named it Claire Benedict, and then let himself disapprove of her heartily. "The sole thing that I know about the young woman is that she was once wealthy, and on this account I have judged her as I have; and I find that it is what I am apt to do." This is what he told himself as he walked the length of that little parlor, and waited. He was much ashamed of himself. "It is an excellent standpoint from which to judge character," he said, severely. "If there is any justice in it I must be a worthless person myself. I wonder how many people are setting me down as one who merely plays at Christian work, because my father left me one fortune and my old aunt another!" I am glad that this man had this severe talk with himself. He needed it. The truth is, he was very apt to judge of people in masses; as though they were specimens, and belonged to certain types. The conclusion of his self-examination at this time was, that he declared that if one third of what Harry thought about this young person was true, it had taught him a lesson. He went to church that evening apparently for the purpose of studying the lesson more thoroughly; at least, he gave some attention to the organist. He had recognized her in the morning, because she had eyes like her father; and this evening he decided that her head was shaped like his, and that she had the firm mouth and yet sweet set of lips that had characterized the father, and he told himself that he might have known that the daughter of such a man would be an unusual woman. After service was concluded, he walked deliberately forward and claimed acquaintance with Sydney Benedict's daughter. The glow that he brought to her face, and the tender light which shone in her eyes, when he mentioned that dear father's name, gave him a glimpse of what the daughter's memories were. Harry came up to them eagerly, having been detained by the pastor for a moment. "You have introduced yourself, Uncle Harold, I see. Miss Benedict, I wanted my Uncle Harold to know you for very special reasons." Uncle Harold was unaccountably embarrassed. What a strange thing for that boy to say! and what did he propose to say next? But Claire relieved the embarrassment, and plunged him into a maze of questioning, by the sudden, eager interest which flashed in her face with the mention of his name. "Are you Harold Chessney?" she asked as though a new thought came to her with the union of the two names, "and are you going to the Rocky Mountains?" "I am Harold Chessney," he said, smiling, "and I have in mind a trip to the Rocky Mountains, if I can make my plans in that direction what I wish. But why this should be of interest to you passes my comprehension." Of course this last he thought. She did not leave him long in doubt. "Is Louis Ansted going with you?" "He is if I can prevail upon him to do so. That is part of my errand here at this time, and has to do with the plans I mentioned." And now his face plainly asked the question: "Why do _you_ care?" She seemed to answer the look. "He needs to go, Mr. Chessney. He needs help; such help as perhaps you can give him. I don't know. Something must be done for him, and that soon. Mr. Chessney, I _hope_ you will succeed." There was no time for more. Alice Ansted came up, and claimed the stranger as an acquaintance, and stood talking with him for a moment and expressed extreme anxiety that he should find her brother in the city the next day. "He is somewhere in town, but we never know where. Still, I could give you a dozen addresses, at any one of which you might find him. I hope you will not return without seeing him." "I shall not," Mr. Chessney said, decidedly. "Is he inclined to accompany me, do you think? Has he mentioned to you my designs?" "Yes, and would go if it were not for--Mr. Chessney, if you could make mamma understand. No one seems able to. Claire Benedict has tried and failed; and what she fails in, perhaps can not be done. I don't know, but something must be done, and that speedily." Almost Claire Benedict's words repeated. The newcomer walked home in almost silence. As they neared Harry's door, he said: "What is young Ansted about just now?" "Drinking hard, sir; he is running down hill very fast. If you don't get him away with you, I am afraid he will go to the dogs in a hurry." "Is he still on terms of special intimacy with the VanMarters?" "Well, as to that, I do not know. Things look mixed. He rails against Willis VanMarter once in a while, when he has been taking enough to make him imprudent, and Miss Alice seems to have broken with them altogether; at least, Willis does not come out any more, I think, and Miss Alice is not in town often; but Mrs. Ansted seems to be as intimate with them as ever, and Louis goes there with his mother. I don't know anything about it, but it looks like a house divided against itself. If I had such a mother as Louis Ansted has, I don't believe I would try to be anybody." "Mothers don't seem to count for much sometimes, my boy." "You mean with their sons, and I dare say you mean me, Uncle Harold; but it is not true. My mother always counted for ten times more than you think. It was she who held me back. If Louis Ansted had a tenth part of the craving for liquor that I have, with his mother to push him, he would have been gone long ago, beyond reach. I don't know but he is now. He has been going down very fast in the last few weeks." "What is the accelerating cause?" "That I don't positively know. Partly, it is the natural result of a bad habit indulged, I suppose; but there are other influences at which I can guess. Still, it is pure guesswork. I am not in any one's confidence, except when Louis has been drinking too much, he says to me things that he would not want me to know if he were sober, and those, of course, I don't repeat. I think that his mother is bent on this union of the two houses, VanMarter's and theirs, and I think neither Louis nor Miss Alice are of her mind in the matter; and I think, moreover, that Louis would rather have an hour of Miss Benedict's society than a lifetime of Miss Eva VanMarter's, and I don't think he can get what he wants. Now, isn't that an interesting little romance for a young fellow like me to think out, especially when I don't know a thing about it? The only fact is that Louis Ansted is in great danger, and nobody seems to have much influence over him--at least, nobody who uses it in the right direction." "His sister seems to be roused. I was surprised to hear her speak as she did." "His sister is not the woman she was when you saw her last. She has been under Miss Benedict's influence all winter." "Evidently you incline to the belief that Miss Benedict is a remarkable woman," his uncle said, with a slight laugh. "Why has she not been exerting her influence to help poor Louis?" "She has tried as hard as a woman can. But, Uncle Harold, she is not the sort of woman to promise to marry a man merely to save him from becoming a drunkard." "I should hope not," Mr. Chessney answered promptly. CHAPTER XXVI. AN ESCAPED VICTIM. IN the quiet of Harry's own room, his uncle having spent fifteen minutes in silent and apparently puzzled thought, suddenly asked a question: "When did Louis go into town?" "Several days ago. He has a way of disappearing suddenly, not giving the family an idea of where he is going or when he expects to return, and when he does get back he shows to any one who is not blind, that he has been pretty low down." "They expect him back to-morrow?" "Why, as to that, they have been expecting him ever since he went away. I heard Miss Alice say that he went unexpectedly, leaving word that he should probably be back to dinner." "Harry, my boy, I am almost inclined to think that I ought to start out to-night, and try to look him up." "To-night! Why, Uncle Harold, how could you? It would be midnight and after before you could reach the city, and then where would you go? The addresses that Miss Alice can give you must be respectable places, with closed doors to-night." "That is true," Mr. Chessney answered, after a thoughtful pause; "it would be a wild kind of proceeding, apparently, with very little excuse; and yet I am someway impressed that it is the thing to do." Alas for the Christian world which believes in theory, that there is a direct link between the seen and the unseen, by which the earnest soul can be told in what way to walk, and, in practice, thinks it must search out its own way! Mr. Chessney did not go out in search of his friend. He did not even ask his Master whether it was his will that the apparently "wild proceeding" should be attempted. He prayed, it is true; and he prayed for Louis Ansted, but only in a general way; and he retired to rest, saying within himself that directly after breakfast he would go into town and see what he could do. Before he was awake the next morning, the piazza of the little country hotel, where he stopped, was filled with loungers who had something unusual and exciting to talk about. There were a dozen different stories, it is true; but out of them all the interested listener could glean certain things which were painfully likely to be facts. There had been a runaway--to that all parties agreed; and Louis Ansted had been in the carriage, and had been thrown; but whether he was killed, or only seriously hurt, or whether the horse had taken fright at the approaching train, or whether the driver had attempted to cross the railroad-track in the face of the train, or whether there had been any train at all, authorities differed. It was still early when Harry Matthews knocked at his uncle's door with the confused particles of story. "And you don't know whether he is living, or not?" asked the startled uncle who was now making his toilet with all possible speed. "No, I can't find out. Some of them say he was killed instantly, and others have it that he was only stunned, and has revived. It may be nothing but a scare. South Plains has so little excitement that it is apt to make as much as it can out of everything. Uncle Harold, I can't go up there and find out, for my train will be due in five minutes, and I must be at the telegraph office, you know." "Yes; I will be down in less than five minutes, and will go immediately up there. I hope it is chiefly talk." Yet when he was left alone, he said aloud and mournfully: "If I had only followed my impressions last night!" He had occasion to say it, or, at least, to think it often, in the days which followed. South Plains had not exaggerated, this time. Louis Ansted was not dead--at least, the heart was beating; but he lay a bruised, unconscious heap among the snowy draperies of his bed--his soiled and matted clothing, which as yet they had not dared remove, telling to the practiced eye a story of more than a mere runaway. The skillful doctor, who had already been summoned from the city, was silent as well as skillful. He issued his orders in as few words as possible, and kept his own counsel, until, left alone with Mr. Chessney for a moment, in answer to the question, "What does this stupor mean?" he shook his head. "Hard to tell. It was on him before the accident, if that gives you any light." It gave him bitter light, and made him groan in spirit over the fact that he had been tempted to go out in the night and hunt for his friend, and had not gone. Later in the day, bits of the facts came to him. Louis Ansted had been alone; had hired a horse at the livery and started for home. "More under the influence of liquor than usual, perhaps," the reluctant hostler at the livery had admitted, "still, I thought he would get through all right." For the rest, the silent lips on the bed told no tales. He had been found, not very far from the railroad crossing, lying under a tree, and the horse had made his way back to the stables. Whether a train had frightened the animal, or whether being left to himself while the driver sank into a drunken sleep had caused his alarm, or how the accident had occurred, was left to conjecture. His mother continually repeated the story--and succeeded in making herself believe it--that a vicious horse had been given him, who evidently became unmanageable at the sound of the locomotive; but some of the listeners went out and said that there was no train passing between the hours that the horse left the stables and returned there, and the doctor shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. Then followed one of those periods of waiting and watching which some people know all about; the miseries of which can only be understood by having to live them. The trip to the Rocky Mountains was indefinitely postponed, and Harold Chessney, having made a journey to the city, and rearranged his business, returned to take his place among the watchers. He was fully roused now; so were all the friends of the sufferer; his _body_ was in danger. It was not at all difficult to make his mother understand this, and no means were left untried by which the frail shell might possibly be rescued from impending ruin. In this way passed weeks, while the soul of the injured man hovered on the edge of another world. Gradually the excitement in the village calmed down, and everywhere outside of that house on the hill every-day life went on again. Mr. Chessney came and went, keeping a hand on his business interests where he must, but keeping the most of his thoughts and the most of his time waiting, in the hope that consciousness would return once more to the wreck on the bed. There was one other who watched and waited, too, though she could not now go to the house to inquire. She could pray; and this she did. Sometimes it seemed to her that every thought was a prayer for that periled soul. And often and often she, too, had to think: "What if I had been more anxious, and earnest, and constant, while the body was comparatively in health--might not things possibly have been different?" It was in the middle of the night, and Mr. Chessney sat alone with the sick man. There was nothing to do but wait, and he had prevailed upon other weary watchers to rest, and let him take his turn. So there was only himself to be startled by a low voice from one who had been for so many weeks speechless: "Harold, is it you?" Great was the rejoicing in the troubled home the next morning. Louis was awake and conscious, knew them all, smiled feebly on his mother, and watched hungrily every movement of Mr. Chessney. The worst was over; he would gain rapidly now. So the mother said, with eager voice and joyful eyes. Alice looked up questioningly when Mr. Chessney remained silent and grave, and as soon as opportunity came, asked her anxious question: "Mr. Chessney, I can see that you do not share mamma's joy. Do you think the indications unfavorable?" "I don't know, Miss Ansted. I am not a physician, only a nurse, and I hope I may be mistaken; but it is true that I am anxious." And the doctor, when he came, expressed no surprise and no pleasure over the change. "But then he is so utterly unimpressible!" said the mother, "one might almost as well have a marble statue for a physician." Yet the statue worked faithfully and tirelessly, and, it must be confessed, hopelessly. To Mr. Chessney he would talk occasionally; and there came a day when that gentleman followed him out to the lawn. "Doctor, what do you think?" "That it is a charming morning." "Doctor, is our patient gaining?" "No." "Is there hope that he will in time?" "No." "Do you mean that you have no hope of his recovery?" "None at all; have not had from the first. Brains like his never recover from such treatment as they have received." "But, doctor, this is very sudden. Do you mean he will lie there helpless for the rest of his life?" "I don't think he will lie there three weeks longer, but he may; we are not infallible. I shall have to hasten this morning. Young Marshall came home in a drunken rage last night, and kicked his wife, and she is going to die, I think. I don't know what we doctors would do if this were not a free country, and liquor-sellers had not a right to kill by inches all the people they choose. This victim over whom you are watching is only one of many. That ought to comfort the friends, ought it not? Good-morning." "I haven't told them," said Mr. Chessney, two hours later, speaking to Claire. He had come out to get a breath of the sweet morning air, and to give Claire the news. During the weeks past, he had been very thoughtful of her anxiety, and very careful that she should receive daily bulletins. "I have not told them, but I must. Miss Benedict, this is the hardest task a man ever has to do. How can I tell that mother that she has robbed herself of her son? She has steadily thwarted for two years every scheme that I devised to help him; and she did not know what she was about, either, poor mother!" "Did you ever try to tell her?" "Yes, and failed, as you did. Alice told me of your effort. But I ought to have tried again. I knew she was deceived. She thought me a fanatic, and I could have told her of scenes that would have made one of her. I shrank from it." It was more than two weeks before she saw him again. During this time she twice received little twisted slips of paper, brought to her by the faithful Bud, and on them would be written a request that she would pray for a soul in peril. One long letter, blistered with tears, Alice wrote to her; the burden of it being the same; and this was all she knew of what was passing in the house on the hill. She had not entered it since that day when its mistress turned from her. Not that she would not quickly have done so, had occasion arisen, but there seemed no need to force herself on the poor mother. "I shall never see him again," she told herself, sorrowfully, "and I have seen him so many times when I might have tried to help him, and did not!" Then there came one brief, never-to-be-forgotten note, written hurriedly by Mr. Chessney: "I believe that Louis rests in the Everlasting Arms." One Saturday morning she was summoned to the parlor to see Mr. Chessney. He came forward quickly, with an anxious air, as of one having a request to make which he feared might not be granted. "I have come for you," he said. "Louis wants to see you. I have been charged to bring you back with me, if possible. I wish I could save you from this ordeal. Do you shrink from it very much?" "No," she said with quiet gravity. "Only as one shrinks from seeing errors that one is powerless to help. Why am I wanted, Mr. Chessney? What can I do!" "I do not know. Louis wants you. He wishes to see you and his mother and his sister Alice together, and I shall have to add that he wants me to be present. I tried to spare you all this last, but he grew excited over it." "I would quite as soon have you present," Claire said, with gentle wonder. She did not understand why it was supposed to be a time of special trial to her individually. If she could have heard Mrs. Ansted's voice in confidential talk with Mr. Chessney, she would have been enlightened. "The girl is well enough, Mr. Chessney, and she has been of help to some of the lower classes here during the winter. I have nothing against her; on the contrary, I would like to shield her. The simple fact is that she has become too deeply interested in my son. It is not strange, I am sure, but it is sad; and that is why I do not wish Alice to have her here at this time. As a mother, it is my duty to shield the girl, though I must say she showed very little consideration for a mother's feelings when she talked with me." All this, and much more, which Mr. Chessney weighed, putting his nephew's views beside them, and came to the conclusion that there was an attachment between the two young people which had not been smiled upon by their elders. Although Claire knew nothing of this, her appearance in the sick-room was attended with sufficient embarrassment. Mrs. Ansted received her with a sort of grave tolerance, as one who was humoring the whim of a sick man, and doing violence to her own sense of propriety thereby. But the change in Louis Ansted was so great, that, after the first moment, it held Claire's thoughts, to the exclusion of all trivial things. He held toward her a thin and trembling hand, as he said: "It was good in you to come. I have changed a great deal since that night you refused to ride with me, haven't I? Yes, I have changed since then. Has Harold told you that I have found help at last?" "He has told me wonderful and blessed news of you," Claire said, taking the chair that Mr. Chessney brought to the bedside. "I do not need to tell you how glad I was to hear it." "No, you don't; that is true. You have given ample proof that nothing which could happen to a friend of yours could rejoice you more. I wish I had met you earlier; it would have made a difference, a great difference in my life. I did not know that religion meant much of anything. Harold, here, was of your mind, but he seemed exceptional--a kind of fanatic; I could not keep within sight of him. The other people whom I knew intimately, seemed to have very little to do with their religion. I beg your pardon, mother, but that was the way it seemed to me. There are different degrees, I suppose." "Louis, you are talking too much," here interposed Mr. Chessney, as he brought the medicine to administer; "your pulse is rising." "Never mind, it won't hurt me. It is almost over now; you know that, Chessney, as well as I do. And I have something to say, that for the good of all parties concerned, must be said now. Mother, I want you to know one thing: from words which you let fall yesterday, I have discovered that you have a mistaken idea about one matter. I am going to die, and I am glad of it. I have gone so far down hill, that to climb back again, for one so awfully bruised as I am, would be hard, very hard; perhaps the Lord sees that it would be impossible, and so gives me this easy way. But, mother, before I go, I want to tell you something which will remove from your mind a false impression. I saw my danger some time ago, and struggled for a way of escape. It was a weak way that I chose; God would not let me build on it. I fancied that if I could have Claire Benedict for my wife, I could be a good and true man. I implored her to help me in this way, and she utterly and hopelessly refused. "You know why I am telling you this, but she does not, and I ask her to forgive me." CHAPTER XXVII. THE SUMMER'S STORY. AFTER this Louis Ansted steadily failed. It had seemed as though he summoned all the strength left in his worn-out body for that one interview wherein he had resolved that his mother should know the truth from his lips. After that the lamp of life burned lower and lower. He rallied again, two days afterward, and was locked in with his lawyer, and gave critical attention to business. "I imagine that he made important changes in his will," Mr. Chessney said to Claire. "I do not know of what character, though I was called in as a witness. I hope he made special provision for his sister Alice. I think that she is likely to disappoint her parents in their schemes, and it might be greatly to her comfort to be independent, so far as property is concerned. But Louis kept his own counsel. His lawyer told me that he might be failing in body, but he had never seen him clearer in brain. So there will be no trouble about carrying out whatever he has planned." "I did not know," Claire said, "that he had property to leave, independent of his parents." "Oh, yes; a large estate, willed to him from his grandfather, absolutely in his own right. It is what has helped to ruin him." "How good it would be if he could make his money undo, so far as money could, some of the mischief he has done." "How could money undo it, my friend?" "Oh, it couldn't. Still, it might relieve the misery which comes from want. I was thinking just then of poor little Mrs. Simpson and her fatherless baby. I have heard that her husband drank his first glass while in Louis Ansted's employ, and that Louis offered it to him, and he did not like to refuse for fear of giving offense. He died with the delirium tremens, and his wife sold her bedclothes and her shoes to buy food for him at the last. Perhaps she would rather starve than take money from poor Louis. Haven't I heard that he was connected with one of the distilleries?" "Some of his property is invested in that way," Mr. Chessney answered, startled with the remembrance. "I had not thought of it. Poor Alice! I am afraid there is great trouble for her in whatever direction one looks. If Louis leaves his property to her, her father and mother will violently oppose what her intense temperance principles would advocate. I wish Louis had felt like talking these things over with me a little." Well, the day came when they followed the ruined body to the grave. It rested in a costly coffin, and the funeral appointments were such as became large wealth and the habit of lavish expenditure. Later, when the will was read, it appeared that the poor heart had taken counsel of One who makes no mistakes. He had done what he could to undo wrong. The income from valuable investments was large, and was left in trust to his sister Alice, to be used at her discretion in relieving the woes of those who had been brought low through the influence of intoxicants. As for the distillery from which half of his income was derived, its business was immediately to cease, its stock was to be destroyed, and its buildings to be made into tenement-houses for the poor. "The poor boy was not in his right mind when he made such a will," the father said. "Why, it is a sinful waste; it is simply throwing thousands of dollars into the river." "It is all the influence of that Benedict girl," the mother said, in bitterness of spirit. But the will stood, and its directions were obeyed with all the promptness that the sister to whose trust the work was left, could force her lawyers. She seemed in feverish haste to have the work of destruction go on. And when her mother accused her of being hopelessly under the influence of "that Benedict girl," and having no mind of her own, her answer was: "Mamma, you are mistaken. At last I am under the influence of One who has a right to own me, body and soul. Poor Louis found Him at last, and yielded to his power, and followed his direction, and it was through Claire Benedict's influence that he did; and, mamma, if he had known Claire Benedict a few years earlier, we should have him with us to-day. Mamma, the time has come for me to speak plainly. Religion has been nothing but a name to me until lately. I have not believed in its power. It is Claire Benedict who has shown me my mistake, and helped me to see Christ as a sufficient Saviour. I belong to him now for time and eternity, and, mamma, I will never marry a man who does not with his whole heart own Christ as his Master, and who is not as intense and fanatical on the temperance question as my brother became." She had always been strong-willed. The mother had been wont to say, somewhat boastfully, that her oldest daughter resembled her in strength of purpose. Human nature is a curious study. What Mrs. Ansted would do, had been a matter of extreme solicitude to several people. Mr. Chessney believed that she would make Alice's life miserable; that she would become Claire Benedict's enemy, and injure her if she could, and that she would withdraw her younger daughters from not only Claire's, but their eldest sister's influence, and from the church to which they had become attached. "I do not mean that she will do this in revenge," he said to Claire, "or that she will really intend to injure anybody. She is one of those persons who can make herself believe that she is doing God's service by just such management as this. I am sorry for Alice and for the young girls. It gives me a sense of relief and joy to remember that Louis is forever safe from pitfalls, and yet sometimes I can not help wishing that he could have lived for a few months longer. He had great influence over his mother. She tried to manage him, and his indolent will allowed himself to be influenced in a wonderful manner, but when he did really rouse, he had great power over his mother." Mrs. Ansted did none of the things which were feared. Instead, she turned suddenly, and with apparent loathing, from the life which she had heretofore lived. She sent for Claire one morning, greeted her with a burst of tears as her dear child, and declared that had she understood the feeling between Louis and herself nothing would have given her greater joy than to have welcomed her into the family. Claire opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. If this were the form of cross that she was to bear, it was peculiar, certainly; but why not bear it as well as any other? Of what use to explain again, what the son's own lips had told, that she had utterly refused the honor offered her--that she had never for a moment desired to be received into this family? If the bereaved mother had really succeeded in making herself believe such folly as this, why not let it pass--the grave had closed over the possibility of its ever being realized? It was a strange part to play--to accept without outward protest the position of one who would have been a daughter of the house, to hear herself mentioned as Louis Ansted's intended wife; to ride, and walk, and talk with the mother, and help her make believe that she would not for the world have thwarted her son's desires; but Claire, after a few attempts at explanation, dropped the effort. The mother did not wish to believe the truth about this, or many other things, and therefore closed her eyes to them. She wished also to impress herself and others with the belief that Louis had been in every respect an exemplary, and, indeed, a remarkable young man. She withdrew her connection with the church in town and united by letter with the one at South Plains; avowedly, because "dear Louis was interested in it more than in any other church in the world." She imagined plans that he might have had for the church, and called them his, and eagerly worked them out. She adopted the minister, and his wife and his children, because she had often heard Louis say that he would rather hear that man preach than to hear Doctor Archer; and once he told her that the minister's little girl had a very sweet face, and was a cunning little witch whom he liked to tease. She turned with something like disgust from the very name of VanMarter, protesting that "poor Louis had had a great deal to bear from their advances," and that she had no desire to cultivate their acquaintance further. On all these strange changes in her mother Alice looked with bewilderment. "She frightens me," she said to Claire one evening, "I don't know what to think. She contradicts every theory of life I ever heard her express. She attributes to Louis graces that he did not possess. She accuses people of injuring him, who really tried to help him, and she adopts as plans of his, things of which I know he had not even thought. I do not know my mother at all; and as I said, it frightens me. Is she losing her mind?" Claire had no ready reply to these questionings, for she, too, was puzzled. But Mr. Chessney, as they walked slowly down from the house on the hill, discussing once more the strange change in the woman of the world, advanced a theory which Claire adopted, but which was hardly the one to explain to Alice. "I think," said Mr. Chessney, "that she is hushing her conscience. It would like to speak loudly to her, and tell her that she is responsible for a ruined life, and she does not mean to listen to it. She is imagining a life she believes Louis might have lived, after the change that came to him on his sick-bed, and is making herself believe that he did live it, and that she was, and is, in hearty accord with it. It is a strange freak of the bewildering human mind, but unless I am mistaken, the woman will not find the peace in it that she is seeking. I think she will have to cry, 'God be merciful to me a sinner,' before her heart will find rest." And then he added one sentence which set Claire's heart into a strange flutter: "Claire, when I see the energy with which she carries out one of her imaginings, connected with you, I am very grateful that Louis insisted on my being present at that first interview between you and him, and that I heard the truth from his own lips, for the mother is succeeding in deceiving every one else." "And I do not know how to help it," Claire said, with troubled voice. "It seems a strange thing to be living a falsehood; but when I try to explain to her, she puts me gently aside, and acts as though I had not spoken; and others have no right to question me about the truth of her theories." "Except myself. Have I the right? Was it as emphatic a refusal as poor Louis understood it? Believe me, I am not asking merely to gratify idle curiosity." "There never was anything in it, Mr. Chessney, and there never could have been." The passage of all these and many other events not chronicled here, consumed the greater portion of the summer vacation. For Claire Benedict was letting the summer slip from her without going home. Sore had been the trial at first; but a few weeks before the term closed, opportunity had been offered her to teach a summer class of city pupils, at prices that were almost equal to her year's salary. What right had she, who wanted to bestow so many luxuries on her mother, to close her eyes to such an opportunity as this, merely because she was homesick for a sight of that mother's face? It had been hard to reconcile the sister, especially, to this new state of things. The gentle mother had long ago learned the lesson that what looked like manifest duty must not be tampered with, no matter how hard to bear; but the hot-hearted young sister refused to see anything in it except an added trial too great to be borne. Many letters had to be written before there was a final reluctant admission that two hundred dollars more to depend on, paltry sum though it was, would make a great difference with the mother's winter comforts. The letter in which poor Dora admitted this was blistered with tears; but the sacrifice was made, and the extra term had been well entered upon. There was much outside of the class and the life being lived on the hill to occupy Claire's thoughts. I hope you do not suppose that the work on the part of "the girls" had been accomplished during a sort of "spasm," and that now they were ready to drop back into inaction. Nothing was farther from their thoughts. If you have imagined so, you have not understood how thoroughly some of them had sacrificed in order to do. We never forget that for which we sacrifice. Besides, the habit of thinking first of the church, and the various causes which are the tributaries of the church, was formed. That the work was to go on, was demonstrated in many ways; not the least by the random remarks which came so naturally from the lips of the workers. "Girls," had Ruth Jennings said, when they lingered one evening after prayer-meeting, "when we cushion these seats, we shall have to send somebody after the material who can carry the carpet and wall paper in his mind's eye. It will never do to have a false note put in here to jar this harmony." "When we cushion the seats!" Claire heard it, and laughed softly. Who had said that the seats were ever to be cushioned? But she knew they would be, and that before very long. On another evening, Mary Burton had said: "Look here! don't you think our very next thing, or, at least, one of the next, ought to be a furnace? I _don't_ like those stove pipes, if they are Russia. A furnace would heat more evenly, and with less dust, and Bud could manage a furnace as well as he can these stoves." How naturally they talked about their future sacrifices! What would have utterly appalled them a few months before, were spoken of carelessly now as "next things." Ruth Jennings readily assented to the necessity for a furnace, but added: "I don't believe we shall have Bud for engineer. He wants to go to school, did you know it? And what is more, Mrs. Ansted intends to send him. Fanny told me about it last night. She says her mother thinks Louis intended that Bud should have an education, and she wants to carry out all his plans. I did not know that Louis Ansted ever had any such plans, did you?" Then Nettie Burdick, after a thoughtful pause: "Oh, well, girls, if we can't have Bud for engineer, perhaps we can have him to preach for us some day. He told me last night that if he lived he meant to preach; and I believe he will, and preach well, too. Just think of it: Bud a minister!" CHAPTER XXVIII. A FAMILY SECRET. YOU are not to suppose that during this press of work the moving spirit in it did not have her homesick hours, when it seemed to her that she must fly to her mother, and that at once; that she did not have her anxious hours, when to provide as she would like for that dear mother and that beautiful young sister seemed a dreary impossibility; that she did not have her discouraged hours, when new carpet and frescoing and stained-glass windows seemed only "vanity of vanities," and the sharp-toned cabinet organ seemed to wheeze loud enough to drive all other improvements out of mind. But there was always this comfort; she was much too busy to brood long or often over thoughts like these; and another thing; weary and disheartened as some rainy evening might find her, there was forever an undertone of thanksgiving about Bud and Harry Matthews, not only, but about others as well; not excepting several of the girls, who, though Christians before she knew them, had stepped upon higher planes of thought and action--been vitalized, indeed, in their Christian life, and would never go back to the follies of the past. Then came the trouble in the Ansted home, and the weeks of waiting and watching, and the final defeat which was still a triumph. During the solemnities of those hours, things which had seemed like trials sank into trivialities, and life grew to her more earnest and solemn than ever before. In all these ways the summer waned. And now changes of various kinds were pending. Harry Matthews was about closing his engagement with the telegraph company, to enter upon a secretaryship under his uncle--a position involving grave responsibilities and conscientious stewardship. What joy it was to remember that the new young man was equal to the trust. Bud was to be regularly entered as a pupil at the Academy, and his face was radiant. The Ansteds were to stay at South Plains all winter, and the girls were happy over the prospect of uniting with the little church at its coming communion. Mrs. Ansted had subscribed a hundred dollar addition to the minister's salary, and told the people that they ought to feel disgraced for not each giving doubly the original amount; that her son Louis, she felt sure, would have taken the matter up had he lived, and she could not rest until she saw it accomplished. Meantime, there was more or less gossip in the town, of course, about affairs with which the people, if they had really stopped to think, had nothing to do. Among other things, there was wonderment as to why Harold Chessney came to South Plains so often. What business was there in this direction which could require so much attention? To be sure, he was one of the Directors of the railroad, but this branch of it had not heretofore been considered so important as to need constant looking after by its chief. Also there were some who thought it very strange that that Miss Benedict would receive so many attentions from him, when she was as good as Louis Ansted's widow! Of course that was so, for Mrs. Ansted herself had as good as said so dozens of times; and see how intimate she was with the entire family. Yes, they knew that Harold Chessney was a very particular friend of Louis Ansted; but they should think that would hardly account for such a degree of intimacy, when Louis had only been buried a few weeks. Meantime, the central figures of this anxious talk went their busy ways, and seemed in no sense troubled by the tongues. Harold Chessney came often, and always visited the Ansteds and the Academy, and the intimacy between all parties seemed to increase instead of diminish. It was about this time that Claire received an unusually lengthy letter from Dora; a letter over which she laughed much, and also shed some tears. Dora had some family perplexities to ask advice about, and indulged rather more than was her wont over forebodings in regard to the coming winter. Then suddenly she launched into the main channel of her letter after this fashion: "Oh, Claire, my dear, you are good! If I could be half like you, or even one third, it would be such a relief to mamma as well as to myself. But Claire (this next that I am going to say is mean, and small, and will serve to show you that I have a correct estimate of myself), I can not help thinking it would be much easier for me to be good if I were away off in South Plains, or North Mountains, or anywhere else than here, right around the corner from the old home. Do you have any conception of what a difference it makes to be around the corner from things, instead of being on the same street with them? I think it possible that I might throw myself intensely into plans for that North Mountain Church, you know, if I were there, and forget this one, and these people, and the old ways. "Claire, part of the time I am pretty good; I am, indeed; but really and truly, it is hard. The girls try to be good, too, some of them. Occasionally I think if they did not _try_ so hard, I could get along better. You see, they stop talking about things when I appear, for fear I will be hurt, and I am hurt; but it is because they think I will be foolish enough to care for what they have been saying. Do you understand that? It reads as though there were no sense in it; but I know what I mean. It is clothes, half of the time. Clothes are dreadful! I find I had no conception of their cost. Not that I am having any new ones. Don't be frightened, dear. I am not so lost to a sense of what has befallen us as such a proceeding would indicate. Why, even a pair of gloves is often beyond my means! Neither am I complaining. It is not the gloves; I am quite willing to go without them. If mamma could have the things which we used to consider necessities for her I would be willing to go bare-handed for the rest of my days. "Well, what am I talking about? Let me see if I can put it into words. The girls, you know, are always arranging for this and that entertainment. I meet them oftener, now that you have insisted on my going back to the music class. To some of these entertainments I am invited, and to more of them I am not. I never go, on account of clothes and some other things. "Imagine a party of girls gathered in the music-room or the hall, in full tide of talk about what they will wear, and how they will arrange their hair, and their ribbons, and all that sort of thing; and imagine a sudden silence settling over them because I have appeared in sight, as though I were a grim fairy before whom it was their misfortune to have to be forever silent about everything that was pretty, or cost money! "Now I am going to make a confession, and I know it is just as silly as it can be, but sometimes I can not help rushing home, and running up to my room, and locking my door, and crying as though my heart would break. "I am thoughtful, though, about choosing times and occasions for these outbreaks. I generally select an afternoon when mamma is out executing some of your numerous commissions; but even then I have to bathe my eyes for half an hour so that the poor, dear, sweet, patient woman will know nothing about it. I never do let her know, Claire. She thinks that I am good and happy, and occasionally she tells me that I am growing self-controlled like you, and then I feel like a hypocrite; but all the same, for her own good I don't enlighten her. "Claire, dear, don't you suppose it is the silly parties to which I do not go which trouble me. I have not the slightest desire to go, and I don't think of them often; I don't, really. Well, that about having no desire, needs qualifying. I mean I would not have, if I could go; I mean I should like to be perfectly able to go if I chose, and then to choose to remain at home. Do you understand? "If the girls would only be free and social, and talk with me as though nothing had happened, I should learn not to care. But it is so hard to always feel that people are saying: 'Hush! there she comes, poor thing, don't talk about it now, or we shall hurt her feelings!' I would rather have them drop me entirely, I believe, as Estelle Mitchell has done. She doesn't bow to me any more, even when we meet face to face; doesn't see me, you know, but she does even _that_ politely. I don't know how she manages. Claire, do you remember the time papa signed that ten thousand dollar note for her father? Well, never mind. I am writing a silly and, a wicked letter. I haven't written so to you before, have I? I'll tell you what has stirred me so, lately, everybody is in a flutter about the house. Claire, it is sold. You know what house I mean; the dear old one on the avenue, every separate stone of which speaks of papa. That Mr. Chessney bought it, who spends half of his time abroad. There is a rumor that he is to be married some time--nobody seems to know just when--and bring his bride there to live. It is well for me that I shall not have a chance to move in her circle, for I feel almost certain that I should have to hate her a little. "It is very absurd, of course, but the girls are actually beginning already to talk about the possible reception, though they don't even know who the prospective bride is. Some have located her in Chicago, and some in Europe. I can not discover that there is an absolute certainty about there being any bride, and yet some of the young ladies are planning what would be pretty and unique to wear. "Estelle Mitchell is sure of being invited, because her brother Dick used to be quite intimately acquainted with one of the Chessney family; and Dora Benedict is sure of not being invited, because she is not intimately acquainted with anybody any more. I wonder who will have our rooms--our dear old rooms? Yes, that largest blot is a tear. I couldn't help it, and I haven't time to copy, and could not afford to waste the paper, if I had. I don't cry very often, but I was foolish enough to walk by the blessed old home this morning, and look up at the open window in papa's study! "Oh, Claire, darling, I wish you could come home, if it is only for a little while, and we could go away from here. Don't you think mamma might be made comfortable in South Plains for the winter? "Oh, that is foolish, I know; and you are a dear, brave, self-sacrificing sister, to give up your vacation and work away all summer to help support us. To-morrow I shall not care anything about this, only to be dreadfully ashamed that I sent you this wicked letter. "I am going down now to make tea, and a bit of cream toast for mother, and I shall be as bright as a gold eagle, and hover around her like a moth-miller in the gaslight, and tell her all sorts of pleasant nothings, and never a word of the house, or the sale, or the possible new mistress for the old home. I am learning, dear, though from this letter you might not think it. But I live such a pent-up, every-day life that I have to say things to you once in a while, else what would become of me?" Claire laughed a great deal over this letter, pitiful as the undertone in it must have been to a sympathetic heart. The tears came once or twice; but after all, the predominant feeling seemed to be amusement. It was not answered promptly; in fact, she waited three days; then came Mr. Chessney for one of his brief visits, and she read the letter aloud to him. What Dora would have thought, could she have seen that proceeding, passes my imagination. What would she have thought of human sympathy, could she have heard the bursts of laughter over parts of it; albeit Mr. Chessney did once or twice brush away a tear! What would she have thought could she have heard the conversation which followed: "Now, my dear Claire, I hope you are convinced of your hard-heartedness. Poor Dora ought not to have this strain kept on her during the autumn, especially when it is so utterly unnecessary. "The house will be in complete order in a few weeks' time, and Dora's reception is just the thing. I can write to Phillips, and put every arrangement into his hands and we can appoint Dora manager-in-chief. "Claire, I have a plan worth a dozen of yours. Let us have the mother and Dora here for a visit. They want to see the little church which they have helped to build. Nothing could be pleasanter. Then all your girls, and all your boys, could be present at the ceremony. Think what that would be for Bud! He would never forget it. Neither would this struggling minister; it would afford an excuse for doing for him just what we want to do. The law does not regulate the amount of marriage fees, you know." Mr. Chessney was an eloquent pleader; and Dora's letter, it must be confessed, plead against the delay that Claire had thought was wise. Of course, she demurred; of course, she hinted at the plans that she had formed for getting ready; but the party on the opposite side had an answer for every argument. He was sure that the way to do would be to get ready afterward, when she would have leisure and his invaluable presence and advice, instead of being hampered with music-scholars, and he miles away, alone, waiting, and Dora waiting and suffering, and the mother thinking her sad thoughts. Happy surprises were all very well; they were delightful. He was entirely in sympathy with her desire to tell mamma and Dora the story of the new home in person, only he believed with all his heart that it would be cruel, and therefore wrong, to burden that young heart with the question of ways and means a moment longer than was necessary. As for Mrs. Foster, she could supply Claire's place quietly, and thereby make some poor music-teacher's heart unexpectedly glad. Of course, Claire was overruled. She had really not one sensible reason to offer why she should remain exiled from mamma and Dora any longer. There was a little feeling of pride, it is true, about the "getting ready afterward;" but as she looked it over carefully and prayerfully, it seemed, even to herself, a mean pride, unworthy of the woman who was to be Harold Chessney's wife. Then there was a fascination in the thought of Dora planning for that reception--really being the one to invite whom she would among "the girls," instead of being the one left out in the cold. Also it was pleasant to think what an event it would be to her girls, and to Bud; and her cheeks glowed over the thought of the marriage-fee that would find its way into the lean pocket-book of the overburdened minister. I would like to tell you the whole story in detail: what Dora said when the letter came imploring her mother and herself to come to South Plains for a few weeks' visit; how the mother demurred on the ground of expense, and yet confessed that it made her heart beat wildly to think of getting her arms around Claire again. "But I can not think what has become of the dear child's good sense," she would add, with a sigh. "Why, Dora dear, she did not come home, you know, because the trip would cost so much, and here she is planning for two of us to take it." "Never mind, mamma," would Dora reply, for Dora was desperately determined on this trip to South Plains, "Claire has planned a way; and we shall save our food if we stay two weeks, and that will be something; and she has sent us the tickets, so the money is spent. Oh, mamma, let us go _anyway_." And of course they went. Yes, I would delight to tell you all about it. What a sensation there was in South Plains, and how full the little church was, and how well Bud looked walking down the aisle as one of the ushers, and how people said the Ansteds certainly would not come, they would feel it a family insult, but how the Ansteds not only came, but took almost entire charge of everything. Above all, I should like to have you look in with me at the parsonage, in the study, where the minister and his wife stopped to break the seal of that special envelope after it was all over; how he rubbed his eyes, and looked, and looked again, and turned pale, and said, huskily: "There is some mistake here, Mary; he has given me the wrong paper." And how she came and looked over his shoulder, and said: "Why, it has your full name. How can there be a mistake?" And then she read, "Pay to Rev. Henry Ramsey, or order, one thousand dollars. ---- ----." Who ever heard of such a marriage-fee as that! Oh, now, I have; there have been just such marriage-fees as that, really and truly. There had been such before Harold Chessney and Claire Benedict were married, and there will be such again. There are poor ministers and grand, rich men, and there will be, I presume, while the world stands. More things than some people dream of are going on in this world of ours. There is one thing which it gives me great pleasure to record. There was a reception given in the old home. It was after mamma and Dora had been established for several days in their old rooms, and it was the evening after the arrival of the bride and groom, and Estelle Mitchell was invited to the reception. Not because her brother Dick had been intimate with one of the Chessneys, but because because-- "My brother Harold gave me liberty to invite whoever I pleased among my classmates, and it would give me pleasure to see you there." Dora spoke truth. It really gave her great pleasure to see Estelle Mitchell at the wedding reception of the Chessneys, and to realize that she was her guest! "Oh, you wicked, wicked Dora!" some of them said, when the excitement caused by the reception cards was at his height, "there you heard us talking about the new furniture, and wondering as to who was the bride, and you never gave us so much as a hint!" Dora laughed, and kept her own counsel. She did not choose to tell them that during those trying days no hint of it had come to her. That was their pretty family secret, with which outsiders were not to intermeddle. They agreed, every one of them, that Dora made a charming young hostess, and Estelle Mitchell said she was glad she was back in her old home, for she just fitted. There are but two things which remain to tell you. One grew out of Ruth Jennings' farewell words to her beloved music-teacher, spoken while she was half-laughing, half-crying, and wholly heart-broken: "But the organ _does_ squeak horribly; you know it does; and it is always getting out of tune." Mr. Chessney heard it, and during their wedding-trip he said to his wife: "There is one thing I want you to help me select. I have not made my thank-offering yet to that blessed little church where I found you. It must have an organ that will keep in tune, and that will worthily commemorate the harmony that was begun there." Imagine, please, for I shall not attempt to tell you, the delight, to say nothing of the unspeakable wonder, of the girls, and of the entire community, when the beautifully-finished, exquisitely-toned bit of mechanism was set up in the church. Accompanying it were two organ stools, one for the church and one for Ruth Jennings' home; so she sits on dictionaries and Patent Office Reports no more. The other item can be told more briefly. It is embodied in a sentence which the gentle mother spoke one morning at the breakfast-table: "By the way, Claire, the committee about the Mission Band entertainment was here yesterday while you and Harold were out, to see if you would help them. I told them I thought you would." The face of the bride flushed deeply, and a peculiarly tender light shone in her eyes as she said: "How very strange that is! It is the same Band which was preparing for that exercise about which I told you. We were to have had it on the day in which papa was buried." "It is the same exercise," Dora said, speaking gently. "The girls dropped it entirely, and could never persuade themselves to take hold of it again, until last week they voted to attempt it." "You were only interrupted in your work, you see," Mr. Chessney said, smiling down on eyes that were filling with tears. "Interrupted, that you might set some wheels in motion that had been clogged; now you are called back to finish the other, and I am here to help you." THE PANSY BOOKS. By "PANSY" (Mrs. G. R. Alden). "Mrs. Alden's writings are so pure, earnest, and hopeful that a daily absorption of her pithiest thoughts must prove an enriching process."--_N. Y. Witness._ $1.00 per volume. 54. Dr. Deane's Way. 55. Miss Priscilla Hunter. 56. Mrs. Deane's Way. 57. What She Said. 75 cents per volume. 58. At Home and Abroad. 59. Bobby's Wolf and other Stories. 60. Couldn't Be Bought. 61. Five Friends. 62. In the Woods and Out. 63. Jessie Wells. 64. Modern Sacrifice (A). 65. Mrs. Harry Harper's Awakening. 66. New Year's Tangles. 67. Next Things. 68. Older Brother (The). 69. Pansy's Scrap Book. 70. Some Young Heroines. 71. Worth Having. 72. Young Folks Worth Knowing. 60 cents per volume. 73. Bernie's White Chicken. 74. Docia's Journal. 75. Getting Ahead. 76. Helen Lester. 77. Mary Burton Abroad. 78. Monteagle. 79. Pansies. 80. Six Little Girls. 81. Stories Told for a Purpose. 82. That Boy Bob. 83. Two Boys. 50 cents per volume. 84. Browning Boys (The). 85. Dozen of Them (A). 86. Exact Truth (The). 87. Gertrude's Diary. 88. Glimpses of Boyhood. 89. Glimpses of Girlhood. 90. Grace Holbrook. 91. Hedge Fence. 92. Helen the Historian. 93. Her Mother's Bible. 94. Kaleidoscope (The). 95. Little Card (The). 96. Side by Side. 97. Six o'Clock in the Evening. 98. Stories from the Life of Jesus. 99. Stories of Great Men. 100. Stories of Remarkable Women. 101. Story of Puff. 102. Their Vacation. 103. We Twelve Girls. 104. World of Little People (A). PANSY TRADE-MARK REGISTERED JUNE 4, 1895. _At all Bookstores, or sent postpaid upon receipt of price._ LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY, Boston. THE PANSY BOOKS. By "PANSY" (Mrs. G. R. Alden). "There is something so pure and earnest and elevating in all Mrs. Alden's writings that no young reader can absorb them without being morally and spiritually bettered by them."--_Christian Work._ $1.50 per volume. 1. As in a Mirror. 2. Aunt Hannah, Martha and John. 3. Chautauqua Girls at Home. 4. Chrissy's Endeavor. 5. Christie's Christmas. 6. Eighty-Seven. 7. Endless Chain (An). 8. Ester Ried. 9. Ester Ried Yet Speaking. 10. Four Girls at Chautauqua. 11. Hall in the Grove (The). 12. Her Associate Members. 13. Household Puzzles. 14. Interrupted. 15. John Remington, Martyr. 16. Judge Burnham's Daughters. 17. Julia Ried. 18. King's Daughters. 19. Links in Rebecca's Life. 20. Little Fishers and Their Nets. 21. Making Fate. 22. Man of the House. 23. Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On. 24. New Graft on the Family Tree (A). 25. One Commonplace Day. 26. Overruled. 27. Pocket Measure (The). 28. Prince of Peace (The). 29. Randolphs (The). 30. Ruth Erskine's Crosses. 31. Sevenfold Trouble (A). 32. Spun from Fact. 33. Stephen Mitchell's Journey. 34. Those Boys. 35. Three People. 36. Tip Lewis and His Lamp. 37. Twenty Minutes Late. 38. Wanted. 39. What They Couldn't. 40. Wise and Otherwise. 41. Yesterday Framed in To-day. $1.25 per volume. 42. Cunning Workmen. 43. Divers Women. 44. Echoing and Reëchoing. 45. From Different Standpoints. 46. Grandpa's Darlings. 47. Miss Dee Dunmore Bryant. 48. Modern Exodus (A). 49. Modern Prophets. 50. Only Ten Cents. 51. Profiles. 52. Reuben's Hindrances. 53. Sidney Martin's Christmas. PANSY TRADE-MARK REGISTERED JUNE 4, 1895. _At all Bookstores, or sent postpaid upon receipt of price._ LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY, Boston. * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Punctuation errors repaired. Page 49, "daugther" changed to "daughter" (course not, daughter) Page 52, "supurb" changed to "superb" (it was simply superb) Page 142, "yon" changed to "you" (best help you) Page 142, "umbarrassing" changed to "embarrassing" (embarrassing or trying) Page 214, "dependent" changed to "dependant" (boy dependant on) Page 402, "fron" changed to "from" (from this ordeal) Page 414, "greal" changed to "great" (had great power) The final two pages, the booklists, seemed to be out of order. This was retained.