Milo

Testimony Of An Infidel That Was Saved

He had been given up by some as a hopeless case. One man, however, prayed for him until he prevailed, and the infidel was saved. A revival was in progress, and in the midst of a melting meet mg he arose and to the surprise of many, “with face shining as did the face of Moses when he saw God,” he gave the following striking and suggestive testimony: “I stand,” said Mr. R—-, “to tell you the story of my conversion.” His lips trembled slightly as he spoke, and his bosom heaved with suppressed emotion. “I am as a brand plucked out of the burning. The change in me is an astonishment to myself; and all brought about by the grace of God, and that unanswerable argument. It was a cold morning in January, and I had just begun my labor at the anvil in my shop, when I looked out and saw Mr. B—- approaching. He dismounted quickly and entered. As he drew near I saw he was agitated. His look was full of earnestness; his eyes were dimmed with tears; he took me by the hand; his chest heaved with emotion, and with indescribable tenderness he said: ‘Mr. R—-, I am greatly concerned for your salvation-greatly concerned for your salvation,’ and he burst into tears. He stood with my hand grasped in his; he struggled to regain self-possession; he often tried to speak, but not a word could he utter; and finding that he could say no more, he turned, went out of the shop, got on his horse, and rode slowly away. “‘Greatly concerned for my salvation,’ said I, audibly, and I stood and forgot to bring my hammer down. There I stood with it upraised – ‘greatly concerned for my salvation.’ Here is a new argument for the truth of religion, which I have never heard before, and which I do not know how to answer.

Had the aged man reasoned with me I could have confounded him; but here is no threadbare argument for the truth of religion. Religion must be truth or this man would not feel as he does ‘Greatly concerned for my salvation, it rung through my ears like a thunderclap in a clear sky Greatly concerned I ought, for my own salvation, I said “What shall I do? “I went to my house. My poor pious wife, whom I had always ridiculed for her religion, exclaimed: ‘Why, Mr. R—- what is the matter with you?’ ‘Matter enough,’ said I, filled with agony and overwhelmed with a sense of sin. ‘Old Mr. B—- has rode two miles this cold morning to tell me he was greatly concerned for my salvation. What shall I do? What shall I do?’ “‘I do not know what you can do, said my astonished wife; I do not know what better you can do than to get on your horse, and go and see him.

He can give you better counsel than I, and tell you what you must do to be saved.’ “I mounted my horse, and pursued after him. I found him alone in that same little room where he had spent the night in prayer for my poor soul, where he had shed many tears over such a reprobate as I, and had besought God to have mercy upon me. “I am come,’ said I to him, ‘to tell you that I am greatly concerned for my own salvation’ “‘Praised be God,’ said the aged man. ‘It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptance, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners,’ even the chief: and he began at that same scripture, and preached to me Jesus. On that same floor we knelt, and together we prayed, and we did not separate that day till God spoke peace to my soul. “I have often been requested to look at the evidence of the truth of religion, but blessed be God, I have evidence for its truth here,” laying his hand upon his heart, “which nothing can gainsay or resist. I have often been led to look at this, and that argument for the truth of Christianity; but I could overturn and, as I thought, completely demolish and annihilate them all.

But I stand here tonight, thankful to acknowledge that God sent an argument to my conscience and heart, which could not the answered or resisted, when a weeping Christian came to tell me how greatly concerned he was for my salvation. God taught him that argument when he spent the night before him in prayer for my soul! Now I can truly say, I am a happy man. My peace flows like a river. My consistent, uncomplaining wife, who so long bore with my impiety and unbelief, now rejoices with me, that, by the grace of God, I am what I am — that whereas I was blind, now I see. And here permit me to say if you would wish to reach the heart of such a poor sinner as I, you must get your qualifications where he did, in your closet and on your knees; So it shall be with me. I will endeavor to reach the hearts of my infidel friends through the closet and by prayer. He sat down overcome with emotion, amid the tears and the suppressed sobs of the assembly. All were touched; for all knew what he once was, all saw what he had now become.

SUPERHUMAN CONTROL OF THE LOCOMOTIVE

The following instance is given in the experience of a correspondent of The Christian, which occurred in the latter part of November 1864, while traveling with her aged father and two small girls

“We started from New Hampshire on Thursday morning, expecting to have ample time to get through to Indiana before Saturday night; but, after we crossed the St. Lawrence River, the next day, I think, there was a smashup on a freight train which hindered our train about two hours. I began to feel anxious, as I knew our limited means would not permit us to stop long on the way. After the cars had started again I inquired of the conductor what time we should get to Toledo, fearing we should not reach there in time for the down train. He said it would be impossible to gain the time:

Soon they changed conductors, and I made a similar inquiry, getting about the same answer. Still I hoped, till we reached the Detroit River. Here I found that, though they had put on all the steam they dared to, they were almost an hour be-hind time, so I should have to stay over till Sunday night.

“After getting seated in the cars on the other side, I ventured to ask the conductor if we should get to Toledo in time for the down train. He readily said: ‘No, madam; impossible! If we put on all the steam we dare to, we shall be more than half an hour behind time. If we were on some trains, we might hope they would wait; but on his, never! He is the most exact conductor you ever saw. He was never known to wait a second, say nothing about a minute, beyond the time.’ I then inquired if we could not stay at the depot. Me said: ‘No; you would all freeze to death, for the fire is out till Sunday evening.’

“A gentleman sitting in front of us said he would show us a good hotel near by, as he was acquainted there. I thanked him, but sunk back on my seat. Covering my eyes with my hand, and raising my heart to God, I said: ‘O God, if thou art my Father, and I am thy child, put it into the heart of that conductor to wait till we get there.’

“Soon I became calm, and fell asleep, not realizing that God would answer my poor prayer; but, when we reached Toledo, to the astonishment of us all, there stood the conductor, wanting to know the reason why he had to wait; when our conductor told him there was a lady with her crippled father and two little daughters, who were going down on that train.

Soon as all were out of the car, both conductors came with their lanterns, and gave their aid in helping my father to the other train, where they had reserved seats by keeping the door locked. All was hurry and confusion to me, as I had my eye on father, fearing he might fall, it being very slippery, when the baggage master said: “Your checks, madam!” I handed them to him, and rushed into the car; but, before I got seated, the car started, and I had no checks for my baggage. Again my heart cried out: “O Thou that hearest prayer, take care of my baggage!” believing He could do that as well as make the conductor wait. In a few moments the conductor came to me with a face radiant with smiles, saying: “Madam, I waited a whole half hour for you; a thing I never did before since I was a conductor, so much as to wait one minute after my time.” He said: “I know it was your father that I was waiting for, because there was nothing else on the train for which I could have waited.” I exclaimed, in a half-suppressed tone, “Praise the Lord!” I could not help it; it gushed out. Then he said: “At the very moment all were on board, and I was ready to start, such a feeling came over me as I had never had in my life before. I could not start. Something kept saying to me, you must wait; for there is something pending on that train you must wait for. I waited, and here you are, all safe.” Again my heart said, Praise the Lord! And he started to leave me, when I said: “But there is one thing.” “What is it?” was his quick reply. “I gave the baggage-master my checks, and have none in return.” “What were the numbers?” I told him. “I have them,” he said, handing them to me; “but your baggage will not be there till Monday morning. We had no time to put it on, we had waited so long.” — Selected.

SPECIAL ANSWERS TO PRAYER

Our old friend, J. Baker, now preaching at Hartford, Mich., who has for years trusted the Lord for all things, both temporal and spiritual, sends us the following:

At the Raisin Center campground, August, 1886, a brother came to me on Saturday evening, requesting that I should come to his tent on Sunday morning, and anoint him for the cure of his deafness. He was a man between forty and fifty years of age. He had been deaf ever since a boy; his deafness being caused by scarlet fever. At the time appointed, in company with Clara Rouch and Carrie Kimball, I went to his tent, and anointed him with oil, we laying our hands upon his head. He was instantly healed, and shouted and rolled on the ground, calling on those standing around to help him praise the Lord. He declared he could hear the faintest whisper.

When I lived in Detroit, in the winter of 1883 I had a house in view which I desired to use as a home for friendless women. The rent was $20 per month. I asked the Lord for the amount to be given me inside of six days, if it was his will I should have the house. In a few days I received a check for $25, from Chicago. Some years afterward, I met the individual who sent the money, and he told me he was very forcibly impressed to send me the money. He never knew what it was for until I told him the circumstance.

SHE WAS A GOOD WIFE TO ME

“She-was-a-good-wife-to-me. A good wife, God bless her!” The words were spoken in trembling accents over a coffin-lid. The woman asleep there had borne the heat and burden of life’s long day, and no one had ever heard her murmur, her hand was quick to reach out a helping grasp to those who fell by the wayside; and her feet were swift on errands of mercy; the heart of her husband had trusted in her; he had left her to long hours of solitude, while he amused himself in scenes in which she had no part. When boon companions deserted him, when fickle affect selfishly departed, when pleasure palled, he went home and found her waiting for him.

“Come from your long, long roving,
On life’s sea so bleak and rough;
Come to me tender and loving,
And I shall be blessed enough.”

That had been her love-song – always on her lips or in her heart. Children had been born to them. She had reared them almost alone – they were gone! Her hand had led them to the uttermost edge of the morning that had no noon. The she had comforted hom, sent him out strong and whole-hearted, while she stayed at home and – cried. What can a woman do but cry – and trust? Well, she is at rest now. But she could not die until he had promised to “bear up;” not to fret but to remember how happy they had been.

They? Yes, it is even so. For she was blest in giving and he in receiving. It was an equal partnership after all! “She – was – a – good – wife – to – me.” O man! Man! Why not have told her so, when her ears were not dulled by death? Why wait to say these words over a coffin wherein lies a wasted, weary, gray-haired woman, whose eyes have so long held that pathetic story of loss and suffering and patient yearning which so many women’s eyes reveal – to those who read. Why not have made the wilderness in her heart blossom like the rose with the prodigality of your love? Now you would give worlds – were they yours to give – to see the tears of joy your words would have once caused, bejeweling the closed windows of her soul. It is too late.

“We have careful thoughts for the stranger,
And smiles for the sometimes guest;
But oft for our own, the bitter tone,
Though we love our own the best.” – Sel.

Send food To John

On the summit of Washington mountain, overlooking the Housatonic valley, stood a hut, the home of John Barry, a poor charcoal-burner, whose family consisted of his wife and himself. His occupation brought him in but a few dollars, and when cold weather came he had managed to get together only a small provision for the winter. The fall of 1874, after a summer of hard work, he fell sick and was unable to keep his fires going. So, when the snow of December, 1874, fell, and the drifts had shut off communication with the village at the foot of the mountain, John and his wife were in great straits.

Their entire stock of food consisted of only a few pounds of salt pork and a bushel of potatoes; sugar, flour, coffee and tea had, early in December, given out; and the chances for replenishing the larder were slim indeed. The snow-storms came again, and the drifts deepened. All the roads, even in the valley, were impassable, and no one thought of trying to open the mountain highways, which, even in summer, were only occasionally traveled; and none gave the old man and his wife a thought.

December 15th came, and with it the heaviest fall of snow experienced in Berkshire County in many years. The food of the old couple was now reduced to a day’s supply, but John did not yet despair. He was a Christian and a God-fearing man, and His promises were remembered; and so, when evening came, and the north-east gale was blowing, and the fierce snow-storm was raging, John and his wife were praying and asking for help.

In Sheffield village, ten miles away, lived Deacon Brown, a well to do farmer fifty years old, who was known for his piety and consistent deportment, both as a man and a Christian. The deacon and his wife had gone to bed early, and, in spite of the storm without, were sleeping soundly, when with a start the deacon awoke, and said to his wife: “Who spoke? Who’s there?” “Why,” said his wife, “no one is here but you and me; what is the matter with you?” “I heard a voice,” said the deacon, “saying, ‘Send food to John.” ” Nonsense,” replied Mrs. Brown; “go to sleep. You have been dreaming.” The deacon laid his head on his pillow, and was asleep in a minute. Soon he started up again, and waking his wife, said “There, I heard that voice again, ‘Send food to John.'”

“Well, well! ” said Mrs. Brown. “Deacon, you are not well; your supper has not agreed with you. Lie down and try to sleep.” Again the deacon closed his eyes, and again the voice was heard: “Send food to John.” This time the deacon was thoroughly awake. “Wife,” said he, “whom do we know named John who needs food?” “No one I remember,” replied Mrs. Brown, “unless it be John Barry, the old charcoal-burner on the mountain.”

“That’s it,” exclaimed the deacon. “Now I remember, when I was at the store in Sheffield the other day, Clark, the merchant, speaking of John Barry, said: ‘I wonder if the old man is alive, for it is six weeks since I saw him, and he has not yet laid in his winter stock of groceries. ‘ It must be old John is sick and wanting food.”

So saying, the good deacon arose and proceeded to dress himself. “Come, wife,” said he, “waken our boy Willie and tell him to feed the horses, and get ready to go with me; and do you pack up in the two largest baskets you have, a good supply of food, and get us an early breakfast; for I am going up the mountain to carry the food I know John Barry needs.”

Mrs. Brown, accustomed to the sudden impulses of her good husband, and believing him to be always in the right, cheerfully complied; and after a hot breakfast, Deacon Brown and his son Willie, a boy of nineteen, hitched up the horses to the double sleigh, and then, with a month’s supply of food, and a “Good-bye, mother,” started at five o’clock on that cold December morning for a journey, that almost any other than Deacon Brown and his son Willie would not have dared to undertake.

The north-east storm was still raging, and the snow falling and drifting fast; but on, on went the stout, well-fed team on its errand of mercy, while the occupants of the sleigh, wrapped up in blankets and extra buffalo robes, urged the horses through the drifts and in the face of the storm. That ten mile’s ride, which required in the summer hardly an hour or two, was not finished until the deacon’s watch showed that five hours had passed.

At last they drew up in front of the hut where the poor, trusting Christian man and woman were on their knees praying for help to Him who is the “hearer and answerer of prayer;” and as the deacon reached the door, he heard the voice of supplication, and then he knew that the message which awakened him from sleep was sent from heaven. He knocked at the door, it was opened, and we can imagine the joy of the old couple, when the generous supply of food was carried in, and the thanksgivings that were uttered by the starving tenants of that mountain hut. –Albany Journal.