Milo

MIRACULOUSLY HEALED

We have read a touching incident about three little children, who, last autumn, late in the season, wandered alone in a dreary region of New Brunswick. The sun had already sunk in the west, and the gloom of evening was spreading itself over the surrounding country.

The night came on fast; and feeling sure that they could not get home before daybreak, the eldest (a girl of only six years) quietly placed the two little ones in a sheltered nook on the sea-beach; and fearing the cold, chilly night for the younger children, Mary stripped off most of her own clothes to keep them warm.

She then started off to gather dry sea-weed, and whatever else she could find, to cover them with. Having tenderly in this way wrought for some time to make them a nest, she at last fell down exhausted with the cold, and half bare to the cold inclement night.

That evening the loving father and tender mother sat up wondering at their children’s long absence; the hours dragged slowly past with anxious watching, and silent listening for the well-known little pattering feet. In vain the fond parents’ eyes pierced through the darkness. At length they roused the neighbors with their anxious inquiries after their lost ones. All that night was passed in searching and in tears, till early in the morning, lying fast asleep, and same- – -what numbed with cold, were found little Johnny and Lizzie. But, oh I a touching spectacle lay near them; their young savior was stiff, cold and dead on the sea-weed which the poor little child-heroine had not strength to drag into the nook, where those she so deeply loved, and died to save, were sleeping. Thus this little New Brunswick girl died in her successful and self-sacrificing endeavor to save her brother and sister.

Does not this recall the love of the Lord Jesus Christ to you who read? Mary went to the full extent of human love in dying for her little brother and sister. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Yet the Lord Jesus laid down his life for his enemies; for “scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die; but God commendeth His love toward us,” etc. He makes no mistakes. Yet how many listen to this story with more emotion and interest than they do to the story of the cross, where the love of Jesus, the Son of God, is told in letters of blood! – Dawn of the Morning.

lVY POISON SUDDENLY HEALED

In answer to our request, Sister S.E. McKeen, of Lake City, Iowa, has furnished us the following account of a wonderful case of physical healing. Her statement is entirely reliable. We give it in her own words “Last August, I attended a meeting held at Storm Lake, Iowa, for the promotion of holiness, and while there became acquainted with a young minister and wife from Dakota by the name of Cone. Unfortunately for them, they pitched their tent where poison-ivy had grown, and she became sadly poisoned. When I first saw her on Thursday evening, she was suffering from fever, and in great pain.

Her face was swollen, her eye bloodshot, and her whole body was covered with the eruption that follows the ivy-poison. Her stomach also refused to retain food or medicine, and if she raised her head she became faint. “Physicians were consulted, and various remedies tried, but still she found no relief. The tent had been moved, and on Sunday morning, when I called to see her on my way to the tabernacle to morning service, she was no better.

That morning her husband had told me that she wanted them to pray that she might be healed. I went on to the service, but the tent was so crowded, and I was feeling so very tired, that I went to our tent to lie down for rest, and read my Bible. I had lain but a few minutes when her sister-in-law came in, and said that Mrs. Cone wanted me. On asking what was wanted, she said: “She wants you to pray that she may be healed.” To say that I was surprised does not express it; I was amazed, for ‘ faith-cure’ was something I did not know much about, never having given it any serious thought.

I did not understand the work of the Holy Ghost, being myself a new convert to holiness, and having come to this place to be established in the doctrine. “I said: ‘I’ll go. O Jesus, show me what to say to the dear one, and for her to Thee.”

I sat down by her bed a moment, and then asked: ‘Do you believe the prayer of faith will save you?’ She quickly answered: ‘Yes.’ I knelt down beside her, and prayed, and the Holy Spirit took complete possession of me, for I did not know where I was or what I said; but when I arose my soul was so full I could not speak. I left her, still in prayer, without a word.

“I was engaged in one of the small tabernacles, and had so completely given her over to Jesus that the whole thing passed from my mind. It was five o’clock when I returned, and as usual went to see how the sister was; when, I found her sitting outside her door, and dressed for evening service. When she saw me she said “Praise God! I’m healed.’ Glory to Jesus! The Great Physician had been there and she was restored whole.

Her husband had only that morning got permission to leave his tent on the ground, for the Storm Lake physician had said she could not be moved for a week. Hallelujah! How it strengthened my faith, and how strong I felt to do God’s will. I have often felt my weakness since then, but it has been a bright spot to look back to ever since. I am walking in the highway of holiness, and light streaming down from above makes my pathway all clear, going home to Jesus.”

LITTLE MOTHER

She was a clear-eyed, fresh-cheeked little maiden, living on the banks of the great Mississippi, the oldest of four children and mother’s ‘little woman’ always. They called her so because of her quiet, matronly care of the younger Mayfields, that was the father’s name. Her own name was the beautiful one of Elizabeth, but they shortened it to Bess. She was thirteen when one day Mr. Mayfield and his wife were called to the nearest town, six miles away. “Be mother’s little woman, dear,” said Mrs. Mayfield, as she kissed the rosy face. Her husband added: “I leave the children in your care, Bess; be a little mother to them.”

Bess waved her old sun-bonnet vigorously, and held up the baby Rose, that she might watch them to the last. Old Daddy Jim and Mammy had been detailed by Mr. Mayfield to keep an unsuspected watch on the little nestlings, and were to sleep at the house. Thus two days went by, when Daddy Jim and Mammy begged to be allowed to go to the quarters — where the negroes lived, to see their daughter “Jinnie, who was very sick with a toothache.” They declared they would be back by evening, so Bess was willing. She put the little girls to bed, and persuaded Rob to go; then seated herself by the table with her mother’s work basket, in quaint imitation of Mrs. Mayfield’s industry in the evening time. But what was this? Her feet touched something cold! She bent down and felt around with her hand. A pool of water was spreading over the floor. She knew what it was; the Mississippi had broken through the levee. What should she do? Mammy’s stories of how houses had been washed away and broken in pieces, were in her mind. “Oh, if I had a boat! ” she exclaimed, “but there isn’t anything of the sort on the place.” She ran wildly out to look for Mammy; and stumbled over something sitting near the edge of the porch.

A sudden inspiration took her. Here was her boat! a very large, old-fashioned, oblong tub. The water was now several inches deep on the porch, and she contrived to half-float, half-roll the tub into the room.

Without frightening the children she got them dressed in the warmest clothes they had. She lined the oblong tub with a blanket, and made ready bread and cold meat left from supper. With Rob’s assistance she dragged the tub up stairs. There was a single large window in the room, and they set the directly by it, so that when the water rose the tub would float out. There was no way for the children to reach the roof, which was a very steep, inclined one. It did not seem long before the water had very nearly risen to the top of the stairs leading from below. Bess flung the window open, and made Rob get into their novel boat; then she lifted in Kate, and finally baby Rose, who began to cry, was given into Rob’s arms, and now the little mother, taking the basket of food, made ready to enter too, but lo! There was no room for her with safety to the rest. Bess paused a moment, drew a long breath, and kissed the children quietly. She explained to Rob that he must guard the basket, and that they must sit still. “Good-bye, dears. Say a prayer for sister, Rob. If you ever see father and mother, tell them I took care of you.” Then the water seized the insecure vessel, and out into the dark night it floated.

The next day Mr. Mayfield, who, with his neighbors, scoured the broad lake of eddying water that represented the Mississippi, discovered the tub lodged in the branches of a sycamore with the children weeping and chilled, but safe.

And Bess? Ah, where was Bess, the “little mother,” who in that brief moment resigned herself to death? They found her later, floating on the water with her brave childish face turned to the sky; and as strong arms lifted her into the boat, the tears from every eye paid worthy tribute to the “little mother.” — Detroit Free Press.

LET THEM ABIDE TILL THE MORROW

The beautiful valley of Wyoming, on the banks of the Susquehanna river, in Luzerne Co., Pa., has long been known alike to the student of history and the lovers of poetry and song. Dr. W. H. Van Doren records, in The Evangelist, an incident which recalls the calamities that overwhelmed Wyoming, and illustrates the gracious care of an everpresent God, for those who trust in Him.

It was in the beginning of July, 1778, that an aged saint, who with his four sons, lived on a mountain overlooking the valley, found that his barrel of meal was nearly exhausted, and bade his sons fill their sacks with grain, and early in the morning descend the long road to the mill in the valley. As requested, before daylight each of the boys had fed his horse, and they were all prepared by sunrise for their journey. And as the day would be too far spent to have their grain ground, they were accustomed at such times to spend the night near the mill in Wyoming. As the patriarch came forth in the morning from the closet of prayer, and said to the waiting sons, “Not today! the young men were greatly surprised. “But, father, our supply is used up, and why should we delay?” they said, as they turned and gazed over the valley, which lay in calm and quiet peacefulness before them. “Not today, my sons,” repeated with emphasis by the man of prayer, satisfied the youths that the father meant what he said. He added: “I know not what it means, but in my prayer my mind was deeply impressed with this word “Let them abide till the morrow.”

Without charging their venerated parent with superstition or ignorance, the obedient sons yielded to his, unladed their beasts, placed them in their stalls, and waited for another morning to come.

That memorable night a horde of savages, with torch and tomahawk, entered Wyoming Valley, and commenced their work of destruction; and it is said that before the bloody drama ended, not a house, barn, church, school, or mill, escaped the flames; and few of the inhabitants escaped the sudden but deadly blows of the savages. From one end of the valley to the other the settlers were butchered or burned with remorseless fury.

In the morning at sunrise, the father and sons were standing on the highest point, and lo! the valley was filled with volumes of ascending smoke and flames. The awful truth flashed on their minds. The aged saint kneeled down with his sons on the mountain-top, and in humble, adoring prayer thanked God for the promise: “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him.” — Guiding Hand.

 KICKED FOR CHRIST’S SAKE

An evangelist said: “A little girl of eight years was sent on an errand by her parents. While on her way, she was attracted by the singing of a gospel meeting in the open air, and drew near. The conductor of the meeting was so struck with the child’s earnestness that he spoke to her, and told her about Jesus. She being the child of Roman Catholics, did not know much about Him, but the gentleman told her of His love to her. On returning home her father asked her what had detained her. She told him, and he cruelly beat her, forbidding her to go to any such meeting again. About a fortnight afterwards, she was so taken up with what she had previously heard of Jesus, that she forgot all about her message. She saw the same gentleman, who again told her more about the Savior. On her return home, she again told her father, as before, where she had been, and that she had not brought what she had been sent for, but that she had brought Jesus. Her father was enraged, and kicked the poor little creature until the blood came. She never recovered from this brutal treatment. Just before she breathed her last, she called her mother and said: “Mother, I have been praying to Jesus to save you and father.” Then pointing to her little dress, she said: “Mother, cut me a bit out of the blood-stained piece of my dress.” The mother, wondering, did so. “Now,” said the dying child, “Christ shed His blood for my sake, and l am going to take this to Jesus to show Him that I shed my blood for His sake.” Thus she died, holding firmly the piece of her dress, stained with her own blood. The testimony of that dear child was the means of leading both father and mother to Christ. — Selected.