Stories Twice-Told ........

Compiled by: A.C.Frey

Mostly gleaned from numerous sources; and some sheer recollections.

Preface

Things of any virtue or value, things in any degree praiseworthy -- the noble words or noble deeds or noble sentiments of anybody -- we may safely meditate upon, and as a consequence find ourselves growing toward those ideals upon which our minds, our new natures, thus feed. We will become more and more transformed by the renewing of our minds, and approach nearer and nearer to the glorious likeness of our Lord and Master, being changed from glory to glory, inch by inch, step by step, little by little, during the present life; and our thoughts being in this attitude and our union with the Lord maintained, we shall have part in the First Resurrection, which will perfect us forever in the Lord's image and likeness.

C. T. Russell (`Manna' 3/5)

STORIES

Well Worth Repeating!

The Master's Touch

One day a stranger wandered through the streets of Stratford, England. As he neared the Stratford Cathedral and heard beautiful strains of music coming from the building, he made his way into the cathedral and took a seat toward the rear of the sanctuary. He was strangely attracted and enchanted by the strains of music coming from the wonderful organ.

After some time, he walked up the long aisle, climbed the steep staircase leading into the choir loft, and edged his way through the seats to take his position near the organ console. He stood there for a moment of two. Then the old organist who was seated before the console looked at him and asked, `What do you want?'

`Please, sir,' replied the stranger, `I should like to play your organ, I was attracted by the delightful tone of your organ and would appreciate the privilege of playing upon it.'

`No,' snapped the old organist. `This is my instrument, and no one else ever plays on it.'

But the stranger entreated. Finally the old organist slipped out from the seat before the console and the stranger took his place. As the organist sat nearby, he heard strange combinations and tones coming from his organ. He was thrilled. After a few moments, he realized that the music being played was a composition on which he had labored long in his attempt to master it. Tears began to run down his cheeks. Finally the stranger stopped playing and looked around at the old organist who said, `You must have rehearsed that number for long months to have mastered it as you have. I have been working on it for weeks and I do not feel that I have even begun to approach mastering it.'

`Yes,' said the stranger seated at the organ, You see, I love it. It is one of my own.'

The eyes of the old organist searched the stranger's face. `Are you Mendelssohn?' he asked in amazement.

`Yes, that is my name,' replied the stranger.

`And to think that I almost denied the master the privilege of playing upon my organ,' said the old organist.

The Master Musician is able to produce a divine and heavenly music that will enchant and thrill.....but only as the console of your life is surrendered to the Lord Jesus can he thrill and strangely draw.....to Him.

`The Believer-Priest in the Tabernacle Furniture'

- Harold B. Street: Pages 107-109

A Bicycle for My Brother

A little girl in a migrant camp fell in love with one of the dolls in the toy box, but she had to put it back when play time was over.

At Christmas time the camp staff arranged to give toys and agreed to let the child with perfect attendance have first choice. A beautiful doll was placed in the center of the gifts and the little girl having had perfect attendance was permitted to choose first. Her eyes nearly popped as she stood rigid before the doll. She stared in wonder, then she turned and walked down and took a tricycle.

When asked why, she said her little brother had wanted a bike and now she could give him one. -- Dean Collins.

`Treasury of International Anecdotes...'

- Compiled by E. Paul Hovey -- page 193

A Mother's Love

There is a story called `Laddie,' that tells of a Scotch mother whose son in early manhood had been allowed to go to London to be brought up by an old physician friend who educated him in his profession. About the time the son graduated, his father died and the young doctor was unable to go home. A few months later the mother, hungry for love determined to go and live with her son who now had settled down to his profession. She surprised him and while glad to see her, shadows played over his face at the thought of the little old-fashioned mother settled over his home. What would the aristocratic people think of her? What would his sweetheart, Violet, say to her old-fashioned ways?

Keeping her true identity from his servants he determined to settle her in the suburbs of the great city where he might see her often. That night he suggested to her that the traffic and bustle of the city would be too noisy for her, and it would be better for her to live just outside of the city, where he could run out and visit her. A shadow came over her face. Quickly concealing it, however, after a while she retired saying that they would talk the matter over again in the morning.

The doctor tried to sleep but could not. He rolled and tossed until he heard his door open and he called out: `Mother, what is it?' And she said, `Laddie, may I come in and tuck you in just as I used to do when you were a boy?' `Yes, mother,' he replied. Tucking him in, she stooped over and kissed him and then retired. That kiss burned into his soul and he resolved that he would keep his mother no matter what happened. After making this decision, he fell asleep.

He slept longer than usual in the morning. As soon as he was dressed he went to his mother's room, but she was gone; the place was empty. A little note told him that she did not want to stand in his way, and she was sure that she could find a way to care for herself. He tried to find her but could not; she had slipped out of sight. He told Violet and she searched with him, but to no avail. Months afterward, when the doctor had visited a patient in the hospital, and was going out through the accident ward, he saw a screen around a cot and he said to the nurse: `Some one near death, I see,' `Yes,' was the reply, ` an old woman was run over by an omnibus and she talks in her delirium about her old home and now and then she calls for Laddie.' Instantly the doctor was around the screen to the cot, and there lay his old mother. With a cry of `Mother,' that would almost have called one back from the dead he threw himself by her side. She opened her eyes and wearily stroked his head and said: `It had been a long way since I left you, Laddie.' Violet came and the two stood by her cot as her life went out with the going down of the sun. And she gave them her parting blessing and the doctor discovered a mother's love that did not want to stand in the way of her son's success.

`The Drama of the Face' -- Elwin L. House -- Pages 77-79

The Gift of Brotherhood

One day Turgenev, the Russian writer, met a beggar who besought him for alms. `I felt in all my pockets,' he said, `but there was nothing there. The beggar waited, and his outstretched hand twitched and trembled slightly. Embarrassed and confused, I seized his dirty hand and pressed it. `Do not be angry with me, brother,' I said, `I have nothing with me.' The beggar raised his bloodshot eyes and smiled. `You called my brother,' he said, `that was indeed a gift.'' -- Archer Wallace.

`Treasury of Inspirational Anecdotes' -- page 57

The Curse of Gold

Dr. Richard Newton tells the sad story of a sailor who stopped at a small inn at a village in Normandy. He engaged supper and a night's lodging. The landlord and his wife were quite old and seemed to be poor. The sailor asked them to eat with him and during the meal he inquired about all their family, asking especially about a son who went to sea when a lad. They supposed he was dead, as nothing had been heard from him for years. At bedtime the landlady lighted the sailor to his room. He bade her goodnight, then slipped a little purse of gold into her hand. She showed the purse to her husband and the eyes of the two delighted at the sight of it. They surmised that the sailor must have a lot more in his possession. During the night they murdered him in bed and took all his money. Early next morning two relations came to enquire about the lodger. They said he had left. `That isn't possible,' they said, `for he was your son and had come home to spend his life with you. He told us he would stay with you one night and see how kind you might be to a stranger.' They had murdered their own son from the cursed love of gold. How many today are ready to sell their souls to the devil for a purse of gold!

`Quiet Hour Stories'

- Keith L. Brooks -- page 87

An Apron Full of Glass

A plainly dressed woman was noticed to be picking up something in the street -- a poor, slum street, where ragged, barefooted little children were accustomed to play. The policeman on the beat noticed the woman's action, and watched her very suspiciously. Several times he saw her stoop and pick up something and hide it in her apron. Finally he went up to her, and with a gruff voice and a threatening manner demanded: `What are you carrying off in your apron?' The timid woman did not answer at first, whereupon the policeman, thinking she must have found something valuable, threatened her with arrest if she did not show him what she had in her apron. The woman opened her apron and revealed a handful of broken glass. `What do you want with that stuff?' asked the policeman. The woman replied: `I just thought I'd like to take it out of the way of the children's feet.' Dear soul, she was doing what she could. How much sweeter the world would be if each of us would be careful to save the bare feet of the young and the weak!

`Anecdotes and Morals'

- Louis Albert Barks -- page 12

In the Ruins of Pompeii

During some recent researches among the ruins of Pompeii the explorers turned up a find that told its own story. It was the body of a crippled boy. He was lame in his foot. And around the body there was a woman's arm: a finely-shaped, beautiful, bejeweled arm. The mute find told its simple story. The great stream of fire suddenly coming from the volcano, the crowd fleeing for life, the little cripple unable to get along fast enough, the woman's heart touched, her arm thrown about the boy to aid his escape: then the overtaking fire-flood, and both lost. The arm that was stretched out to save another was preserved, and only that. All the rest of the brave rescuer's body had gone. The saving part was saved...Only that mercifully outstretched to save another was itself saved...

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes'

- Compiled by James G. Lawson

Seeing with Blinded Eyes

A blind woman sang `One Sweetly Solemn Thought' at a recent service and we could feel the living presence of God in her voice. After the service Mrs. McGuire and I drove her to her home. `I am very happy in my religion: God has put many beautiful things in the world,' she said. Then as we helped her from the street to her cottage home, she casually explained, `I have never had sight.'

She had never seen a star-lit sky, a rainbow, a zigzag lightning flash, the halo of mist around the crest of a mountain, a million fishes splashing in a tropical river at sunrise. She had never seen a baby, a smile, a magnolia tree in bloom, a wooded hillside in autumn, a thick cloud, phosphorescence playing across the ocean breakers at night, or a rainbow painted by the setting sun across a canvas of dark clouds. Yet she spoke of many beautiful things!

But she had heard the voice of God through the greetings of friends, she had sensed the fragrance of the rosebud, tasted His providence in the cool water, and felt His presence through her fingertips as she studied her Braille New Testament. And the Beauty of the world made her happy. -- Clive McGuire.

`450 Stories from Life'

- Compiled...by Leonard R. Jenkins -- page 122

A Finger, Then a Hand

I remember one time my little girl was teasing her mother to get her a muff, and so one day her mother brought a muff home, and although it was storming, she very naturally wanted to go out to try her new muff. So she tried to get me to go out with her. I went out with her, and I said, `Emma, better let me take your hand.' She wanted to keep her hands in her muff, and so she refused to take my hand. Well, by and by she came to an icy place, her little feet slipped, --and down she went. When I helped her up she said, `Papa, you may give me your little finger.' `No, my daughter, just take my hand.' `No, no, papa, give me your little finger.' Well, I gave my little finger to her, and for a little way she got along nicely, but pretty soon we came to another icy place, and again she fell. This time she hurt herself a little, and she said, `Papa, give me your hand,' and I gave her my hand, and closed my fingers about her wrist, and held her up so that she could not fall. Just so, God is our keeper. He is wiser than we. -- D. L. Moody

`Climbing the Heights.'

- Compiled by Al Bryant. -- page 216

`Daddy Didn't Say, `Oh!''

I believe it was Pastor Dolman whom I heard tell how he was sitting at his desk one day when he heard the door creak, and then suddenly there was a sharp cry of pain. Looking up he saw his little daughter who had started to enter the room when her little fingers had caught in the door. He jumped and calling the mother said, `You better come and look after this little girl.' The mother came and taking the child said tenderly, `Does it hurt so dreadfully?' `Oh, it hurts,' said the child, `but the worst is that Daddy didn't even say, `Oh!'' Someone who sighs for us, weeps with us, feels with us in our troubles...remember what is said of our Lord, `In all afflictions, he was afflicted.' -- H.A. Ironsides.

`3000 Illustrations for Christian Service.'

- Walter B. Knight

The Bee That Would Not Be Saved

The other evening I was a little late in going down to dinner, and this was the reason: I noticed a number of dead bees lying on the floor of the lookout where I am accustomed to work -- a sight that I encounter every spring. The poor things had come in through the open window. When the windows were closed they found themselves prisoners. Unable to see the transparent obstacle, they had hurled themselves against the glass panes on all sides, east, north, south and west, until they fell to the floor exhausted, and died. But yesterday, I noticed among the bees, a great drone, much stronger than the bees, who was far from being dead, who, in fact, was very much alive and was dashing himself against the panes with all his might, like the great beast that he was. `Ah! my fine friend,' said I, `it would have been an evil day for you had I not come to the rescue. You have been done for, my fine fellow; before nightfall you would be lying dead, and on coming upstairs, in the evening with my lamp, I would have found your poor little corpse among those of the other bees.' Come, now, like the Emperor Titus I shall mark the day by a good deed: let us save the insect's life. Perhaps in the eyes of God a drone is as valuable as a man, and without any doubt it is more valuable than a prince.

I threw open the window, and, by means of a napkin, began chasing the insect toward it; but the drone persisted in flying in the opposite direction. I tried to capture it, it lost its head completely; it bounded furiously against the glass panes, as though it would smash them, took a fresh start, and dashed itself again and again, against the glass. Finally it flew the whole length of the apartment, maddened and desperate. `Ah, you tyrant!' it buzzed. `Despot! You would deprive me of my liberty! Cruel executioner, why do you not leave me alone? I am happy, and why do you persecute me?'

After trying very hard, I brought it down and, in seizing it with the napkin, I involuntarily hurt it. Oh, how it tried to avenge itself! It darted out its sting; its little nervous body, contracted by my fingers, strained itself with all its strength in an attempt to sting me. But I ignored its protestations, and, stretching my hand out the window, opened the napkin. For a moment the drone seemed stunned, astonished; then it calmly took flight out into the infinite.

Well, you see how I saved the drone. I was its Providence. But (and here is the moral of my story) do we not, stupid drones that we are, conduct ourselves in the same manner toward the providence of God? We have our petty and absurd projects, our small and narrow views. Our rash designs, whose accomplishment is either impossible or injurious to ourselves. Seeing no farther than our noses and with eyes fixed on our immediate aim, we plunge ahead in our blind infatuation, like madmen. We would succeed, we would triumph; that is to say, we would break our heads against an invisible obstacle.

And when God, who sees all and who wishes to save us, upsets our designs, we stupidly complain against His Providence. We do not comprehend that in punishing us, in overturning our plans and causing us suffering, He is doing all this to deliver us, to open the Infinite to us.

- Victor Hugo

Even the Leaves are Fragrant

A group of girls were together one rainy afternoon. One of them opened the door for a moment, and a wave of the smell of wet, green, growling things poured into the room. The girl at the door turned and said to the others, `Do you smell the sweet-briar down by the gate? It is always fragrant, but never so fragrant as in the rain.' One of the girls said impulsively that this reminded her of her aunt. When asked to explain, she said: `Why, you see, there are ever so many roses that are fragrant -- the roses themselves I mean -- but the sweet-briar is the only one whose leaves also are fragrant. That is why it makes me think of my aunt, because everything about her, everything she does, not the large things only, but all the common everyday things, the leaves as well as the blossoms, have something beautiful in them.'

- Dr. J. R. Miller, `Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes', page 167

A Cloud of Smoke

A sailor was the only survivor of an unfortunate foundering of a vessel near an uncharted and desolate island. The only way to reach the island was by swimming; but one had to be a very good and strong swimmer to reach the shore. All others, save this one sailor, who attempted swimming the distance were lost.

On the island, from sticks, reeds, stones, etc., he built for himself a little shelter to protect him from the inclemencies of the weather. Much of his time was spent in experimenting with the wild vegetation for food; and in searching out the island for some other human beings. In some way, he had gotten a little fire started to keep himself fairly comfortable when the nights were cold; but he had to keep it burning continuously. On first reaching the island, he had taken his wet shirt and fastened it to the top of a very tall tree atop a high, in the hope that some vessel passing might see it and come to rescue him.

Day after day, he kept searching all over the island. One morning as he climbed a hill, he saw a cloud of smoke rising heavenward. He began to feel reasonably sure that this was evidence that there was another human on the island. Both his heart and his pace quickened, but on reaching the top of the hill and looking down he saw that it was his own little shack with all of his earthly belongings that had burned away. Slowly, and disappointedly, he wended his way back to the shore-line. There he sat down in the sand, with his head in his hands, he gazed out upon the restless sea, wondering if it were not better for him t walk out into it to drown himself. Surely, this would end all of his misery....Suddenly he spied another column of smoke, but it was on the distant horizon. He watched it anxiously and hopefully, somewhat assured that it was a vessel come to rescue him. It was nearing the island; but suddenly it stopped in its approach, and his hopes again were shattered. However, in another moment he noticed that a small life-boat was being put down along side of the vessel, and that a man in the row-boat was making for the shore where he stood. The man in the boat ceased rowing, and cupping his lips, shouted to the forlorn sailor, `We just saw your smoke signals, and have come to rescue you.'

So too, the great salvation is not for us, until all of our earthly hopes and ambitions have been completely abandoned, for the greatest of all treasures -- that great redemption in Christ Jesus!

*A recollection -- A.C.F.

The Blessing of a Broken Leg

Mr. McConkey told of a lady summering in Switzerland who went for a stroll and came to a shepherd's fold. She looked in at the door. There sat the shepherd and nearby on a pile of straw lay a single sheep seemingly in suffering. Asking what was the trouble, she was told that the lamb's leg was broken. The shepherd said that he himself had broken it. It was a most wayward animal and would not follow, not obey and misled the others. He had had experience with sheep of this kind, so he broke one of its legs. The first day when he took it food, it tried to bite him. He let it lie for a couple of days then went back to it. It not only took the food but licked his hand, showing every sign of submission and affection. He said when it was well, it would be the model sheep of the flock. It had learned obedience through suffering. Many times out of our very agony of heart, the God of love seeks to bring into our lives the supremest blessing that can enrich and glorify our lives -- the blessing of a human will yielded to the will of God. Scripture assures God's children that afflictions are for their profit `that we might be partakers of his holiness' and that we might `yield the peaceable fruit of righteousness.'

`Quiet Hour Stories' -- Keith L. Brooks, page 51

It's The Chords that Count

Dr. F. B. Meyer related a beautiful story of a little girl staying at a summer hotel. She was of that trying age when small fingers are beginning to find their way about the piano, striking as many wrong notes as right ones, and not particularly sensitive to the anguish such attempts are capable of inflicting on others. A brilliant musician was stopping at the hotel. He took in the situation and sat down beside the small musician who thumped out her tunes. He began to accompany her with the most exquisite improvisation. Each note of hers only gave him a new motif for chords of surpassing beauty, whilst the drawing room, crowded with people, breathlessly listened. The performance over, the great musician took the child by the hand and introduced her as the one to whom they were indebted for the music. Her efforts had led to his magnificent accompaniment, but his part in the performance had led to a deep impression. It is the Lord's presence with the Christian that makes the difference `Apart from Him we can do nothing' acceptable. If we achieve, it is because He works with us and through us. To Him be the glory!

`Quiet Hour Stories' -- Keith L. Brooks, page 62

The Hallelujah Chorus

Years ago in Cincinnati, Handel's `Messiah' was rendered by perhaps the greatest chorus on earth: Patti, then in her prime, was the leading soprano; Whitney, the bass; Theodore Toedt, the tenor; Carey, the alto; and this quartet was supported by more than four thousand voices.

Just before the `Hallelujah Corus' a death-like stillness brooded over the vast assemblage. Suddenly the bass sang `For he shall reign for ever and ever;' the alto lifted it a little higher- `For ever and ever,' and the tenor lifted it still higher- `For ever and ever;' then Patti broke in as though inspired- `King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.' As she broke off, paused and lifted her eyes, a voice seemed to float down from above as the voice of an Angel flinging out through the great hall the question, `How long shall he reign?' -- and a thousand sopranos in unison responded `For ever and ever.' Then the four thousand of the chorus broke forth like the shout of an angelic host, `Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!'

What a day for this poor old sin-ruined, storm-torn, heart-broken, groping-in-the-blind world. When He shall take His rightful throne and reign in all hearts and over all lives for ever and ever!

`Springs in the Valley' -- Elmer Ellsworth Helms.

A Grandmother's Promise

When my little son was about ten years of age, his grandmother promised him a stamp-album for Christmas. Christmas came, but no stamp-album, and no word from grandmother. The matter, however, was not mentioned; but when his playmates came to see his Christmas presents, I was astonished, after he had named over this and that as gifts received, to hear him add, `And a stamp-album from grandmother.'

I had heard it several times, when I called him to me, and said, `But, Georgie, you did not get an album from your grandmother. Why do you say so?'

There was a wondering look on his face, as if he thought it strange that I should ask such a question, and he replied, `Well, mamma, Grandma said, so it is the same as.' I could not say a word to check his faith.

A month went by, and nothing was heard from the album. Finally, one day, I said, to test his faith, and really wondering in my heart why the album had not been sent, `Well, Georgie, I think grandma has forgotten her promise.' `Oh, no, mamma,' he quickly and firmly said, `she hasn't.'

I watched the dear, trusting face, which, for awhile, looked very sober, passed over it, and he said, `Mamma, do you think it would do any good if I should write to her thanking her for the album?' `I do not know,' I said, `but you might try it.'

A rich spiritual truth began to dawn upon me. In a few minutes a letter was prepared and committed to the mail, and he went off whistling his confidence in his grandma. In just a short time a letter came saying, `My dear Georgie: I have not forgotten my promise to you of an album. I tried to get such a book as you desired, but could not get the sort you wanted; so I sent on to New York. It did not get here until after Christmas, and it still was not right, so I sent for another, and as it had not come as yet, I send you three dollars to get one in Chicago. Your loving grandma.'

As he read the letter, his face was the face of a victor. `Now, mamma, didn't I tell you?! came from the depths of a heart that never doubted, that against hope, believed in hope' that the stamp-album would come. While he was trusting, grandma was working, and in due season faith became slight.

It is so human to want sight when we step out on the promises of God, but our Savior said to Thomas, and to the long roll of doubters who have ever since followed him: `Blessed are they who have not seen, and yet have believed.'

`Streams in the Desert' -- Mrs. Rounds, page 56.

Arrows on the Head

We have read of Caesar having prepared a great feast for his nobles and friends. It happened that the day appointed was so extremely foul that nothing could be done to the honor of the meeting, whereupon he was so displeased and enraged that he commanded all who had bows to shoot up their arrows at Jupiter, their chief god, as if in defiance of him for that rainy weather. When they did this their arrows fell short of heaven and struck their own heads, so that many of them were sorely wounded. So our murmurings, which are so many arrows shot at God, will return upon our own heads; they hurt not Him, but will would us.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- Compiled by James G. Lawson.

My Father Will Pay For It

The other day a little girl told me she was going to give her father a pair of slippers on his birthday. `Where will you get the money?' I asked. She opened her eyes like saucers, and she said, `Why, father will give me the money.' And just for half a minute I was silent as I thought the dear man would buy his own birthday present. I was not in the house when she gave him the slippers. But I suppose when the father came down in the morning there was the parcel between his knife and fork. And the father loved his little girl for her gift, although he had had to pay for it. She had not anything in the world that he had not give her. -- W. K. Greenland

`Five Thousand Best Modern Illustrations' -- G.B.F.Hallock -- page 292 (#1919)

Laughing at the Storm

A gentleman was crossing on the ferry from New York to Brooklyn. The tide was running very high and the boat crashed into the dock. In a moment all was confusion. The gentleman noticed a little girl sitting on the knee of the hackman, who evidently was her father. The little chin began to quiver, the tears started to her eyes, and a cry of fear sprang from her lips. But turning and looking into her father's face, she saw him laughing. Instantly, without having anything explained, the tears dried, the little mouth straightened out, and the cry of fear gave place to a merry laugh. She had faith in her father.

`Five Thousand Best Modern Illustrations' -- G.B.F.Hallock -- page 262 (#1697)

Carry a Can of Oil

There is a story of an old man who carried a little can of oil with him everywhere he went, and if he passed through a door that squeaked, he poured a little oil on the hinges. If a gate was hard to open, he oiled the latch. And thus he passed through life lubricating all hard places and making it easier for those who came after him.

People called him eccentric, queer, and cranky: but the old man went steadily on refilling his can of oil when it became empty, and oiled the hard places he found.

There are many lives that creak and grate harshly as they live day by day. Nothing goes right with them. They need lubricating with the oil of gladness, gentleness, or thoughtfulness. Have you your own can of oil with you? Be ready with your oil of helpfulness in the early morning. It may lubricate the whole day for him. The oil of good cheer to the downhearted one -- Oh, how much it may mean! The word of courage to the despairing....Speak it!

`Streams in the Desert' -- page 351

The Secret of Service

Drummond tells of the young woman whose life of sacrifice was the wonder of all who knew her. Nothing was too great to do for Christ. Every interest in her life was subordinated to His interests. The poor, the sinful, the lonely, the children, the needy of every description found in her a friend indeed. In a conversation with her one day, Drummond asked her the secret of her service. Without answering she opened a locket that hung upon her breast. In it was inscribed the answer, `Whom having not seen, I love.' This is the secret of every life that truly accepts Christ.

`The Christ Who is All' -- Amos John Traver, -- p. 35

At the End of the Tunnel

In the not too long forgotten past, our railroad trains were equipped with kerosene lamps, lighted only after the darkness had set in. Unlike our modern trains having electric lights, the kerosene lamps had each to be individually lighted by the porter, and this he did with a match.

During the day, sometimes those trains had to pass through dark tunnels and because these periods were comparatively short, the lamps were not lighted at such times: and the people would sit in the darkness, awaiting, as it were, the light on the trains emerging once again from the tunnel.

On one of these train trips, a little girl was observed running to and fro throughout the length of the train, very much to the dismay of her mother, who had time and time again asked her to sit down still beside her, so that she would not need to fall and hurt herself if the train should suddenly lurch this way or that as it went around a curve. The little girl, however, was too busy enjoying herself, and so did not heed her mother's request. Suddenly, the train entered one of these dark tunnels, plunging from the brightness of noon day into the darkness of midnight. Everything seemed quiet; the little girl's laughter and the patter of her little feet could no longer be heard. Everyone wondered as to what had happened to her, until the train emerged into the light again, when, lo and behold, there sat the little girl on her mother's lap, her little arms tightly clasped about her mother's neck!

How often, we too are so childish in our pursuits, -- wanting to have our own way, until some trial, some tragedy, some bereavement, sends u scurrying back to the Father's bosom.

*A Recollection -- A. C. F.

The Marble Doesn't Matter Any More

One day a lady was giving her little nephew some lessons. He was generally a good, attentive child, but on this occasion he could not fix his mind on his work. Suddenly he said, `Auntie, may I kneel down and ask God to help me find my marble?' His Aunt having given her consent, the little boy knelt by his chair, closed his eyes, and prayed silently. Then he arose and went on with his lessons contentedly. Next day, almost afraid of asking the question, lest the child had not found his toy, and so might lose his simple faith, the lady said to him, `Well, dear, have you found your marble?' `No, Auntie,' was the reply; `but God has made me not want to.' God does not always answer our prayers in the way we wish or expect: but if we are sincere in our appeal to Him, He will take form us what is contrary to His will and give us faith to leave all in His holy will.

`3000 Illustrations for Christian Service' -- Grace and Truth

Let Go of the Flowers

Some prayers God cannot answer; they would not be for our good. During the Indian mutiny, outside the city of Lucknow, an English child was playing with her nurse. The rebels were coming, and a brave soldier dashed out of the city gate, picked up the child, and got back into safety. At great risk of his life he had saved the little one, but no amount of persuasion availed to get the little girl to kiss her deliverer. `You took me away from my flowers,' she said.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- British Weekly -- page 191.

Giving Two-Fold

A good lawyer learns many lessons in the school of human nature, and thus it was that Lawyer Hackett did not fear to purchase a tract of land which had been `lawed over' for years. Some of the people wondered why he wanted to get hold of property which had such an incubus of uncertainty upon it. Others thought that perhaps he wanted some legal knitting work, and would pitch in red hot to fight that line-fence question on his own hook. That's what the owner of the adjoining land thought. So he braced himself for trouble when he saw Hackett coming across the field one day. Said Hackett: `What's your claim here, anyway, as to this fence?'

`Your fence is over on my land two feet at one end, and one foot at the other end.'

`Well,' replied Hackett, `You go ahead and set your fence over. At the end were you say that I encroach on you two feet, set the fence on my land four feet. At the other end push it on my land two feet.'

`But,' persisted the neighbor, `that's twice what I claim.'

`I don't care about that,' said Hackett. `There's been fight enough over this land. I want you to take enough so you are perfectly satisfied, and then we can get along pleasantly. Go ahead and help yourself.'

The man paused, abashed. He had been ready to commence the old struggle, both tooth and nail, but this move of the new neighbor stunned him. Yet he wasn't to be outdone in generosity. He looked at Hackett. `Squire,' said he, `that fence ain't going to be moved an inch. I don't want the land. There wa'n't nothing in the fight anyway, but the principle of the thing.'

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- The Epworth Herald.

How often has a soft answer, turned away wrath!

The Old Lamplighter

I was born in the greater City of New York, in the borough known as the Bronx. In those early days, and for some time after the turn of the century, the City could boast of electric-lights (carbon arc lamps) on the avenues; but the side streets were lighted by gas-lamps. These latter had to be individually lighted each and every day. Accordingly , in the late afternoon, it was not unusual for one to see a middle-aged man, with a ladder strapped to his back, come down the street, with a long stick having a lighted taper in the end of it. This he would stick into each lamp to light it. Then he would cross over the street to light the next lamp; and thus he continued to light one lamp after another -- this was his mission! Eventually, one could see the lamp-lighter no longer, for the darkness would swallow him up. However, one could see the lights that he had left behind him.

There are people about us, and some who will come along this way after us, who will stumble and fall in the darkness unless we leave lighted lamps in the way for them. And Jesus did admonish us to let our lights shine.

*A Recollection -- A.C.F.

Safely on Your Knees

Some years ago an eminent preacher was climbing an Alpine summit with two guides. After much labor the top was reached, and forgetting the gale that was blowing, the preacher stood up to enjoy the view. Instantly the guide called to him and pulled him down, saying, `On your knees; you are not safe except on your knees.' Even at the summit of Christian experience and privilege, we are not safe except on our knees. Prayer is as needful on the mountain tops,, as in the valleys.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- The Cheltenham Examiner.

Pulling the Great Ship Closer

I have often watched giant ocean-going vessels nudge themselves into a slip. But they are too large, too clumsy, and too powerful to dock themselves directly to the pier. A man aboard the vessel throws a line to the man on the shore. This latter takes the liner's hawser and fastens it to the cleat on the pier. Then the liner's engines begin to pull on the hawser; but it is not the pier that is pulled it the ship, but the ship is pulled closer and closer to the pier. So too, prayer is not intended to bring God closer to us, but rather, us closer to God.

*A Recollection -- A.C.F.

The Kiss of God

The other day, in the midst of the hurrying traffic of a great thoroughfare, an old poverty-stricken woman was leading a blind youth by the hand. He had a battered concertina hung around his neck. His face was marred, plain to ugliness; he had the look of one but half-witted. But he was clearly her son. There was the same face, the same contour of form, though he was slightly the taller. They came along, she impassive and heedless of everything but her charge. Suddenly they stopped, and moved by some impulse, she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. Few noticed it, but there was content in the face of the blind fellow, and a firmer grip of the sole hand that upheld and guided him. Some of us in our blindness and loneliness have felt the kiss of God and the pressure of His hand. We are content that the crowd eager for novelty should sweep by, assured that all that they can find is worthless in exchange for Love that passes knowledge.

`5000 Best Modern Illustrations' -- Sunday School Chron.

The Scent of Danger

A short time ago I read a story that made me thoughtful. A great menagerie was sold by auction. Some straw that had been used as temporary bedding for the wild beasts was bought by a man who owned a livery stable. And horses that had never seen a lion were uneasy and refused to enter the stalls where the straw was. It was an instinctive dread of an unseen enemy. And it is possible for a conscience to be so delicately adjusted to the voice of God that when a lure which we do not certainly know to be sinful, a cunningly baited trap for the soul, is placed in our track, there shall be spiritual instinct, a divine scent, that shall make us draw back and avoid the danger. Paul had such a conscience.

`5000 Best Modern Illustrations' -- H.C.Lees, page 178

On Business for the Firm

A traveling salesman was telling a friend the story of the treatment received in a certain business house at the hands of the member of the establishment with whom he had come in contact. The rudeness and injustice recited stirred the listener to protest. `And you did nothing about it afterwards? You let it go too easily. A fellow like that deserves to be taught a lesson.' `Yes, but -- I'm not here to avenge personal wrongs, you know; I'm on business for the firm,' answered the salesman. He must do nothing to hinder or bring discredit upon the interests intrusted to him. What of us who are intrusted with the King's business?

`5000 Best Modern Illustrations' -- S.S. Times. p. 316

The Wrong Definition of Conscience

A little girl was asked what conscience was, and she gravely replied; `It's something inside of me that tells me when Johnny does wrong.' That kind of conscience is very common, but not particularly useful in reforming one's own life. There are many people, whoever, who base their assurance of their own high moral standards on their swift perception of other people's wrongdoing. -- The Christian Age.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 61

The Ingredients of Zeal

I sat down in the my arm-chair, weary with work; my toil had been severe and protracted. The church wore an aspect of thrift and prosperity; and joy and hope and courage were the prevailing sentiments on every hand. As for myself; I was joyous in my work; my brethren were united; my sermons and exhortations were evidently telling on my hearers: my church was crowded with listeners; the whole community was more or less moved with the prevailing excitement; and so the work went on. I had been led into exhausting labors for its promotion.

Tired with my work, I soon lost myself in a sort of half forgetful state, though I seemed fully aware of my place and surroundings. Seemingly a stranger entered the room, without any preliminary tap, or `Come in.' I saw in his face benignity, intelligence and weight of character; but though he was passably well attired, he carried suspended about his person measures and chemical agents and implements, which gave him a very strange appearance.

The stranger came toward me, and extending his hand, said, `How is your zeal?'

I supposed, when he began to questions, that the query was to be for my health; but was pleased to hear his final word; for I was quite well pleased with my zeal, and doubted not the stranger would smile when he should know its proportions. Instinctively I conceived of it as a physical quantity, and putting my hand to my bosom, brought it forth and presented it to him for his inspection.

He took it, and placing it in his scale, weighed it carefully, I heard him say, `One hundred pounds!'

I could scare suppress an audible note of satisfaction; but I caught his earnest look as he noted down the weight; and I saw at once that he was intent on pushing his investigation.

He broke the mass to atoms, put it in his crucible, and put the crucible into the fire. When the mass was thoroughly fused, he took it out, and set it down to cool. It congealed in cooling, and when turned out on the hearth, exhibited a series of layers or strata; which all at the touch of the hammer fall apart, and were severally tested and weighed; the stranger making minute notes, as the process went on.

When he had finished, he presented the notes to me, and gave me a look of mingled sorrow and compassion, as, without a word, except, `May God save you!' he left the room.

I opened the note and read as follows:

`Analysis of the zeal of Junis, a candidate for the crown of glory; weight in mass, 100 lbs., of which, on analysis, there proves to be, viz.

Bigotry10 parts

Personal ambition23 parts

Pride of talent14 parts

Love of praise19 parts

Pride of denomination15 parts

Love of authority12 parts

Love of God 4 parts

Love of man 3 parts'

I had become troubled at the peculiar manner of the stranger, and especially, at his parting look and words; but when I looked at the figures my heart sank as lead within me. I made a mental effort to dispute the correctness of the record, but was suddenly startled into a more honest mood by an audible sigh, almost a groan, from the stranger, who had paused in the hall, and by a sudden darkness falling upon me, by which the record became at once obscured and nearly illegible. I suddenly cried out, `Lord save me!'

I knelt down at my chair, with the paper in my hand, and my eyes fixed upon it. At once it became a mirror, and I saw my heart reflected in it: = The record is true! -- I saw it; I felt it; I confessed it; I deplored it; and I besought God, with many tears, to save me from myself: and at length, with a loud and irrepressible cry of anguish, I awoke. -- Selected.

Zion's Watch-Tower -- Oct. 1889 (Reprint page 1159).

Looking Backward

A yacht was cruising among the isles of Scotland, when a gale caught the frail craft off a perilous leeshore. The skipper made for a harbor leagues away. Through the darkness the yacht went plunging on her course. At length she swung into smooth water, and they dropped anchor, and turning into their berths went peacefully to sleep. In the morning the owner came on deck and surveyed the scene, -- a little haven girt about by dark purple mountains. Looking toward the entrance, he saw a narrow channel, with sharp rocks jutting here and there, all awash with boiling surf. Turning to the old skipper he exclaimed: `Did we pass there in the darkness?' This is a parable of life. We know something of the goodness and mercy which have followed us all our days, but we shall never realize fully the debt we owe our unseen Guide until we are safely within the harbor. -- British Weekly.

`5,000 Best Modern Illustrations' -- page 339

Known by her Father

A father was nursing his little blind daughter on his knee. Just then a friend came in, and, picking her up, walked off with her down the garden. The little one expressed neither surprise nor fear, so her father said, `Aren't you afraid, darling?' `No,' she said, `But you don't know who has you!' `No,' was the prompt reply, `but you do, father.' That was enough. She was in `the sight of' her father, and faith in her father's loving care banished fear.

`5,000 Best Modern Illustrations' -- W. Hethering. -- page 319

The Wrong Book

Busy in his study a minister was preparing his sermon for the coming Sunday. He reached to the shelf at his side for a book, and then remembered that he had left it downstairs. His little daughter was playing in the bed-room, and he called her. She came, running, eager and delighted at the thought that papa needed her. He explained carefully where she could find the book, and she went gladly, returning in a moment with a book which he saw at a glance was the wrong one. But he hardly looked at the book as he took it and laid it on the table. He looked only at the eager face of his little daughter, wreathed in smiles. Gathering her close to his heart, he kissed her and said, `Thank you, darling.' And when she had gone back, happy and contented to her play, he went quietly for the book he needed. I think I should like to listen to the sermons that man would preach. -- Christian Herald

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 202

The Successful Plea

`No,' said the lawyer, `I shan't press your claim against that man; you can get someone else to take the case, or you can withdraw it, just as you please.'

`There would probably be some money in it, but it would as you know, come from the sale of the little house the man occupies and calls `home'; but I don't want to meddle with the matter, anyhow.'

`I suppose likely the old fellow begged to be let off?'

`Well -- yes he did.'

`And you?'

`I didn't speak a word to him.'

`Oh, he did all the talking, did he? What did you do?'

`I believe I shed a few tears; he didn't speak a word to me.'

`Well, may I respectfully inquire whom he did address in your hearing?'

`Almighty God. But, not for my benefit, in the least, You see' -- the lawyer crossed his right foot over his left knee, and began stroking his lower leg up and down, as if to help state his case concisely -- `you see, I found the little house easily enough, and knocked on the outer door, which stood ajar, but nobody heard me; so I stepped into the little hall, and saw through the crack of another door just as cozy a sitting room as there ever was.

`There on the bed, with her silver head way up high on the pillows, was an old lady. I was on the point of knocking, when she said, as clearly as could be, `Come, father, now begin; I'm all ready-' and down on his knees by her side went an old, white-haired man, still older than his wife I would judge; and I couldn't have knocked then. He began to pray; first he reminded God they were still his submissive children, mother and he, and no matter what he saw fit to bring upon them, they shouldn't rebel at His will; of course `twas going to be very hard for them to go out homeless in their old age with poor mother so sick and helpless, but still they'd seen sadder things than ever that would be. He reminded God, in the next place, how different it might all have been if only one of their boys had been spared them; then his voice kind of broke, and a thin white hand stole from under the coverlet and moved softly over his snowy hair; then he went on to repeat that nothing could be so sharp again as parting with those three sons -- unless mother and he should be separated. But at last he fell to comforting himself with the fact that the dear Lord knew it was through no fault of his own that mother and he were threatened with the loss of their little home, which meant beggary and the almshouse, a place they prayed to be delivered from entering if it could be consistent with God's will; and then he fell to quoting a multitude of promises concerning the safety of those who put their trust in the Lord; yes, I should say he begged hard; in fact, it was the most thrilling plea to which I have ever listened; and at last he prayed for God's blessing on those who were about to demand justice.' The lawyer stroked his lower limb in silence for a moment or two, then continued, more slowly than ever:

`And-I-believe-I'd rather go to the poorhouse myself, tonight, than to stain my heart and hands with the blood of such a prosecution as that.'

`You are afraid to defeat the old man's prayer?' queried the client.

`Bless you soul, man, you couldn't defeat it!' said the lawyer. `It doesn't admit of defeat! He left it all subject to the will of God; but he left no doubt as to his wishes in the matter; claimed that we were told to make know our desires unto God, but of all the pleading I ever heard, that beat all. You see, I was taught that kind of thing in my childhood; and why I was sent to hear that prayer, I'm sure I don't know; but I hand the case over.'

`I wish,' said the client, twisting uneasily, `you hadn't told me about the old fellow's prayer, because I want the money the place will bring; but I was taught the Bible all straight enough when I was a youngster, and I'd hate to run counter to such a harangue as that you tell me about.' I wish you hadn't heard a word of it; and another time I wouldn't listen to petitions not intended for my ears.'

`My dear fellow,' he said, `you're wrong again; it was intended for my ears, and yours too, and God Almighty intended it. My old mother used to sing about God's moving in a mysterious way, I remember.'

`Well, my mother used to sing it too,' said the claimant, as he twisted his claim-papers in his fingers. `You can call in the morning, and tell `mother and him' the claim has been met.

`In a mysterious way,' added the lawyer, smiling. -- Selected

`Zion's Watch-Tower' -- April 1885 (Reprint p.746-747)

The Dynamics of Faith

A little girl was distressed by the discovery that her brother had set traps to catch birds. Asked what she had done about the matter, she replied, `I prayed that the traps might not catch the birds.' `Anything else?' `Yes,' she said, `I prayed that God would prevent the birds from getting into the traps.' `Anything further?' `Yes, I went out and kicked the traps all to pieces.' That child seems to have mastered the doctrine of the futility of faith without works. Real faith is not static. It is dynamic. It does not seem too much concerned with security. It even risks danger. It is bold to invade the unknown.

`Treasury of Inspirational Anecdotes.' -- page 177 -- Complied by E. Paul Hovey.

An `A' for Behavior

When Edward Everett Hale brought his first report home from Boston Latin School, it showed that he stood only ninth in a class of fifteen. He was terribly downhearted, but home was his refuge and he had a good mother. She said, `Never mind, Edward, I notice in your report that you are first for good behavior and, Son, that means more to me than to have you head of the class and not behave well.' What a sensible mother!

It is a striking thing that no one ever refers to Jesus as clever or brilliant. It is because all know that the supreme virtue is goodness. -- Archer Wallace.

`Treasury of Inspirational Anecdotes.' -- page 62

Assembling a Meat-Chopper

A successful cutlery manufacturer, who in his youth hated and despised God once said:

`It takes a girl in our factory about two days to learn to put the seventeen parts of a meat-chopper together efficiently! It may be that these millions of worlds, each with its own orbit, all so wonderfully balanced in space -- it may be that they just happened; it may be that by a billion years of tumbling about they finally arrange themselves. I don't know. I am merely a plain manufacturer of cutlery. But this I know, that you can shake the seventeen parts of a meat-chopper around in a wash-tub for the next seventeen billion years and you'll never make a meat-chopper.' And only God can make a tree!

*A Recollection -- A.C.F.

Ignore the Blots

On reaching home one evening, tired and somewhat dispirited, my little girl brought me her copy-book which she had just completed. It was her first, and the young face reddened with a beautiful and honest flush, for she knew as she turned over the pages some little word of praise and cheer would reward her hard attempt. The pages were very neatly written. And I told her what a pleasure it was to see how careful she had been. Presently we came to one on which were two small blots. As she turned the page the little hand was laid upon them, and looking up into my face with an artlessness that was beautiful, she said, `Papa, don't see the blots!' Of course, I did not see them, but I bent down and kissed the little forehead, and was thankful for the lesson I had learned. How precious it would be if, amid all the nameless strifes and discords that so fret and chafe us, we could just lay the finger on the sullied page of human lives and not `see the blots.' When littlenesses annoy and vex us, if we would only look away from these to some brighter pages! -- Epworth Era.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 87

Just a Short Way to Go Together

`Why didn't you tell her she was taking more than her share of room and encroaching upon your rights?' some one asked of a young girl who was merrily describing an old woman who had taken a seat beside her in a crowded railway car, and crammed into the small space a bird-cage, a basket of apples, and bundles numerous and varied. `It wasn't worth while to trouble about it; we had such a little way to go together,' was the reply. What a motto that would be for a life-journey! So many little annoyances are not worth noticing, so many small unkindnesses even may be passed by silently because we have `such a little way to go together.' -- J. R. Miller, In the Record of Christian Work.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 88

Forgiveness is a One-Way Street

Two small girls had a quarrel. The mother of one of them, who knew about the quarrel, talked with her little girl about it, and tried to show her the wrong of it, and her need of asking God's forgiveness. Accordingly, when the little one kneeled down to pray, she humbly asked, `O God, please forgive me for speaking angrily to Charlotte, and for quarrelling with her.' So far, so good. But the wrong disposition was still there fore the child went on: `And make Charlotte come to me and ask my forgiveness, O Lord, give her no rest, by day or night, until she is sorry and come and tells me so.' -- From our Hope and Life in Christ.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 121

Willingly Deaf

C. H. Spurgeon, while still a young man and a village pastor, was passing the house of a woman know as the village termagant, who greeted him with a volley of words the reverse of polite. Smiling, the young man said, `Yes, think you; I am quite well.' She burst into another string of expletives. `Yes, it does look as if it's going to rain,' he replied. Surprised as well as exasperated, the woman exclaimed, `Bless the man, he's as deaf as a post! What's the use of talking to him?' -- The Christian Herald.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 337

The White Dress in the Coal Mine

`I think a Christian can go anywhere,' said a young woman who was defending her continual attendance at some doubtful places of amusement. `Certainly she can,' rejoined her friend, `but I am reminded of a little incident which happened last summer when I went with a party of friends to explore a coal mine. One of the young women appeared dressed in a dainty white gown. When her friends remonstrated with her, she appealed to the old miner who was to act as guide to the party. `Can't I wear a white dress down there in the mine?' she asked, petulantly. `Yes, mum,' returned the old man, `There is nothing to keep you from wearing a white frock down there, but there will be considerable to keep you from wearing one back.' -- L.A. Banks in Record of Christian Work.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 506

Showing the Way

It is a dark stormy night, and a little child, lost in the streets of the city, is crying in distress. A policeman, gathering from the child's story enough to locate the home, gives directions after this manner: `Just go down this street, half a mile, turn and cross the big iron bridge, then turn to your right and follow the river down a little way, and you'll see then where you are.' The poor child only half comprehending, chilled by the wind and bewildered in the storm, is turning about blindly, when another voice speaks and says in a kindly tone, `Just come with me.' The little hand is clasped in a stronger one, the corner of a warm cloak is thrown over the shoulders of the shivering child, and the way home is made easy. The first one had told the way: this one condescends to be the way. -- D.H. Strong.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 43

In a Minute

If you asked Dora to do anything, she would reply, `In a minute.' It was a bad habit she had. `Dora, go upstairs, and bring me down my comb.' `Yes, mother, in a minute.' `Dora, come to your dinner.' `In a minute.' One day Dora' bird was hopping about on the floor. Dora's mother said, `Dora, shut the door, or the cat will be after your bird.' `Yes, mother, in a minute,' said Dora, `I just want to finish this line in my drawing.' But the cat did not wait. In he came, and with one dart had the bird in his mouth. Down went the slate on the floor, and away went cat, bird, and Dora. There was a wild chase on the lawn. `In a minute,' Dora came back weeping with the dead bird in her hand. Dora cried: mother was sad, but said, `A great many things may happen in a minute.' Dora never forgot that lesson. -- Home Words.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 263

The Glass Between

When I was in England, during one of the conferences, a lady said she was awakened by a very strange noise of pecking, or something of the kind, and when she got up, she saw a butterfly flying backward and forward inside the window-pane in a great fright, and outside a sparrow pecking and trying to get in. The butterfly did not see the glass, and expected every minute to be caught, and the sparrow did not see the glass, and expected every minute to get the butterfly, yet all the while that butterfly was a safe as if it had been millions of miles away, because of the glass between it and the sparrow. So it is with Christians. Satan cannot touch the soul that has the Lord Jesus Christ between itself and him. -- Pearsall Smith, In the Free Methodist Magazine.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 347

The Winking Owl

Dr. A. C. Dixon tells a story of a man who, going down a street in Chicago, came to a taxidermist's shop, and stopped long enough to criticize some things. In the window was an owl, and he said: `That owl is not stuffed right; its head is not on right, the body is not poised right, the feathers are not fixed right; and if I could not stuff an owl better than that, I would go out of the taxidermist business.' And when he go through his criticism the owl turned around and winked at him. Than he walked down the street feeling that he was the biggest fool in Chicago, for he had criticized a live owl. When that owl shoed life it was beyond his criticism or that of anybody else. The Word of God lives. -- The Sunday School Times.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 363

Weeds Need Direction

Thehoall thought it very unfair to influence a child's mind by inculcating any opinions before it should come to years of discretion, and be able to choose for itself. `I showed him my garden,' says Coleridge, `and told him it was my botanical garden.' `How so,' said he, `it is covered with weeds.' `Oh,' I replied, `that is because it has not come to its age of discretion and choice. The weeds, you see, have taken the liberty to grow, and I thought it unfair in me to prejudice the soil toward roses and strawberries.' -- The Golden Treasury.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 363

Just Fix the Hands

There is a story of a colored man who came to a watchmaker and gave him the hands of a clock, saying, `I wand yer to fix up des han's. Day jes' doan' keep no mo' kerrec time for mo' den six mints.' `Where is the clock?' answered the watchmaker. `Out at de house in Injun creek,' `But I must have the clock.' `Didn't I tell yer dar's nuffin de matter wid de clock `ceptn' de han's? And I done brought `em to you. You jes' want de clock so yo' can tinker wid it and charge me a big price. Gimme back dem han's.' And so saying, he went off to find some reasonable watchmaker. Foolish as he was, his caution is very like that of those who try to regulate their life without being made right inside. And their reason for not putting themselves into the hands of the Lord is very similar to the reason the colored man gave. They are afraid the price will be too great. They say, `We only wish to avoid this or that habit.' But the Master Workman says, `I can't regulate the hands unless I have the heart.' -- From Way of Faith.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 389

The Blind Man's Lantern

There is a story of a man who was walking down a dark street and met another man with a staff and a lantern. The striking thing, as the stranger noticed it, was that the man was feeling his way with his staff, and apparently making no use of the light. When asked if he were not blind, the man replied that he was, but he knew the street well, and had no difficulty in making his way with his staff. `But,' asked the stranger, `why do you carry a lantern?' `To keep other people without lanterns from stumbling over me,' was the blind man's answer. To be able only to tell others where not to go is a small gift, but it is something. Not every one can be a brilliant beacon in the world, but the humblest person can keep himself from being a stumbling-block.' -- The Youth's Companion.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 235

Watching the Sun Move

Two children were playing on a hillside, when they noticed that the hour was nearing sunset, and one said wonderingly, `See how far the sun has gone! A little while ago it was right over that tree, and now it is low down in the sky.' `Only it isn't the sun that moves, it's the earth. You know, father told us,' answered the other. The first one shook his head. The sun did move, for he had seen it; and the earth did not move, for he had been standing on it all the time. `I know what I see,' he said triumphantly. `And I believe father,' said his brother. So mankind divides still -- some accepting only what their senses reveal to them, the others believing the word of God. -- The Christian Herald.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 365

Invisible Brains

A skeptical young man confronted an old Quaker with the statement that he did not believe the Bible. The Quaker said: `Dost thou believe in France?' `Yes, though I have not seen it I have seen others that have; besides, there is plenty of corroborative proof that such a country exists.' `Then thee will not believe anything thee or others have not seen?' `No, to be sure, I won't.' `Did ever see thine own brains?' `No.' `Ever see anybody that did?' `No.' `Does thee believe thee has any?' -- Herald and Presbyter.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 369

`Father, Are You There?'

I remember, many years ago, a little boy on a trundle bed, having just retired for the night. Before going to sleep he turned in the direction of the large bed on which his father lay and said, `Father, are you there?' and the answer came back, `Yes, my son.' I remember that that boy turned over and went to sleep without thought of harm. Tonight that boy is an old man of seventy, and every night before going to sleep he looks up into the face of his Heavenly Father and says, `Father, are you there?' `Will you take care of me tonight?' And the answer comes back clear and strong, `Yes, my son.' Whom need we fear if God our Father be with us? -- From Henry Clay Trumbull, in The Expositor.

`Cyclopedia of Religious Anecdotes' -- page 479

Creeping Across the Ice

In the early days of emigration to the West a traveler once came for the first time in his life, to the banks of the mighty Mississippi. There was no bridge. He must cross. It was early winter, and the surface of the mighty river was sheeted with ice. He knew nothing of its thickness, however, and feared to trust himself to it. He hesitated long, but night was coming on, and he must re