Milo

THE WIDOW’S PRAYER ANSWERED

A captain’s widow, whom I knew for many years of our chapel, was much concerned for the conversion of her son, who was a sailor. For a long time he had promised to be a comfort and help to his mother; but through the influence of bad companions he became very wicked and dissolute. Many times have I gone to the public house and other places of temptation to allure him home to his mother’s house; and in no instance when his mother’s name had been mentioned has he refused to come; for on him the charming name of mother seemed to exercise a potent, irresistible spell. I have often taken him up into our Sunday-school room, where he used to be a scholar, and have reasoned and prayed him till the tears ran down his cheeks, and he would promise to get on “a better tack.”

On one of these occasions I gave him a pocket Bible, in which he engaged to read one verse a day until the ship returned from Sidney. I mentioned this to his mother, and shall not soon forget her look, as she said: ‘Thank God! Thank God! I now have hopes of his conversion.” He was gone many months, and but little was heard of him; but mother prayed for him daily at a fixed time. The widow died, but her faith, joy and peace were marvelous and delightful to witness. I do not remember paying her a single visit in which she did not mention her son, and express her belief that she would meet him in glory.

One evening she remarked: “I am near the grave, I feel my time here is very short; I will leave a message for my boy, which you must deliver to him.” Observing her extreme weakness, I prayed with her a few moments, and promised to see her early the next day. Accordingly I called, and saw that she was indeed dying. She desired to be propped up in bed, and to sing a hymn; and, in order to support her in this final effort, her two daughters knelt on the bed, and upheld her as well as they could. She spoke to them of her funeral and her property. When this business had been transacted she said to me: ” I know that I am dying, but I have no fear; all is light and beautiful. Christ is here Christ is mine, and I am his.” Her voice became stronger and clearer, and she bade us sing. Her daughters could sing but little, their hearts were too full. However, we all did our best in singing her favorite verses.

“Fearless of hell and ghastly death,
I’d break through every foe;
The wings of love and arms of faith,
Would bear me conqueror through.”

While we were singing, a loud knocking was heard. A servant having gone for the doctor, I went to the door, and, my surprise, found the sailor-boy just returned, I explained to him his mother’s condition, and told him to remain in the parlor till I broke the news to her, after hearing she said: “Oh I thought it was my dear boy. Oh; how I should like to see him once more, and to give him my blessing.’

“Are you able,” I inquired, “to hear him? With a smile, she replied: “I can bear anything, through Christ.”

I went for the sailor, and when I brought him into the room we found her praying, with her eyes closed, for her only son. In a few moments she looked around and saw her long absent child. He threw his arms around his mother’s neck and tried to speak, but could not. But the mother cried: “Hallelujah! Jesus is faithful and true;” and after one kiss, she added:

“My dear boy, I am dying and going to Jesus. I have prayed every day for you, my dear Frank. What shall I tell Jesus about you? Your father is there,” pointing upwards “your sisters are on the way. Oh, what shall I tell my blessed Savior?”

“You can tell Him what you like, mother. I am a Christian, converted to God, mother; and he knows all about it.

“The mother’s heart was full; the good news overcame her strength, and she exclaimed

“Let me go, Lord, I have seen thy salvation! My prayers are all answered! My son is saved, clothed, and in his right mind! Glory! Glory! Glory!”

After sleeping a few minutes she awoke with a beautiful smile on her face, and said: ” I see the angels, harps, crowns; bright, golden crowns! Let me go! “and, raising her hand above her head, she exclaimed: “Victory, through faith in His blood!” Then her arm fell, her eyes closed, and her spirit returned to God who gave it. – T.G. Garland.

THE STOWAWAY

On board an English steamer, a little ragged boy, aged nine years, was discovered on the fourth day of the voyage out from Liverpool to New York, and carried before the first mate, whose duty it was to deal with such cases. When questioned as to his object in being stowed away, and who had brought him on board, the boy, who had a beautiful sunny face, that looked like the very mirror of truth, replied that his stepfather did it, because he could not afford to keep him, nor pay his passage out to Halifax, where he had an aunt who was well off, and to whose house he was going.

The mate did not believe the story, in spite of the winning face and truthful accents of the boy. He had seen too much of stowaways to be easily deceived by them, he said, and it was his firm conviction that the boy had been brought on board and provided with food by the sailors.

The little fellow was very roughly handled in consequence. Day by day he was questioned and requestioned, but always with the same result. He did not know a sailor on board, and his father alone had secreted and given him the food which he ate. At last the mate, wearied by the boy’s persistence in the same story, and perhaps a little anxious to inculpate the sailors, seized him one day by the collar, and dragging him to the fore, told him that unless he told the truth, in ten minutes from that time he would hang from the yard-arm. He then made him sit down under it on the deck.

All around him were the passengers and sailors of the midday watch, and in front of him stood the inexorable mate, with chronometer in his hand, and the other officers of the ship by his side. It was a touching sight to see the pale, proud, scornful face of that noble boy; his head erect, his beautiful eyes, bright through the tears that suffused them.

When eight minutes had fled, the mate told him he had but two minutes to live, and advised him to speak the truth and save his life. But he replied with the utmost simplicity and sincerity, by asking the mate if he might pray. The mate said nothing, but nodded his head, and turned as pale as a ghost, and shook with trembling like a reed in the wind. And then all eyes turned on him, the brave and noble fellow this poor boy whom society owned not, and whose own step-father could not care for knelt with clasped hands and eyes upturned to heaven. There then occurred a scene as of Pentecost. Sobs broke from strong, hard hearts, as the mate sprang forward and clasped the boy to his bosom, and kissed him, and blessed him, and told him how sincerely he now believed his story, and how glad he was that he had been brave enough to face death, and be willing to sacrifice his life for the truth of his word. — Illustrated Weekly Telegraph.

THE SECRET OF JAMES CAUGHEY’S WONDERFUL SUCCESS

This wonderful evangelist was known to only a few of the present generation. He died at a good old age in New Brunswick, N.J., but two or three years before the publication of this book.

In one of his books, Mr. Caughey says: “I am now fully persuaded that in proportion as the Spirit of God shall condescend to second my efforts in the gospel message, I shall be successful. No man has ever been signally used in winning souls to Christ without the help of the Spirit. With it, the humblest talent may astonish earth and hell, by gathering into the path of life thousands for the skies; while, without it, the finest, the most splendid talents, remain comparatively useless”

Mr. Caughey was called of God to visit England and Ireland, in which countries he labored seven years with the most signal success. During this time, ” nearly twenty-two thousand persons professed conversion under his immediate labors, and nearly ten thousand entered into the rest of full salvation.” He gives the following account of his call, in a letter to a friend, from which we extract as follows

“You will remember our Conference of 1839 was held in the city of Schenectady, N. V. That year I was appointed to Whitehall, N. V. Shortly after, I had my library study furniture forwarded to my station.

“It was then I began seriously to reflect upon the propriety of choosing a wife, believing that ‘marriage is honorable in all men.’ I had traveled a number of years, studied hard, and expended all my time and strength in winning souls to Christ. My brethren approved of my intention. But while indulging in this purpose-for some reasons I could not explain-my heart became very hard. The Lord seemed to depart from me; and that countenance, which so often beamed upon me from above, and had daily, for many years, brightened my soul into rapturous joy, appeared now to be mantled in the thickest gloom.

“The more I reflected thus: ‘I can see no good reason why I should be singular among my brethren, nor continue to lead this solitary life, my heart became harder, and my dark-ness increased. I was soon involved in a variety of evil reasonings. My will seemed to be in a conflict with some-thing invisible. God, who had honored me with such intimate communion with himself since my conversion, apparently left me to battle it out alone. So it appeared to me then; but now I see God himself was contending with me. I was about to step out of the order of his providence; and he was resolved to prevent it, unless I should refuse to understand why he thus resisted me. Had I continued the conflict, I believe he would have let me take my own course; nor would he have
cast me off; yet I solemnly feel he would have severely chastised my disobedience.

“My distress and gloom were so great, I could not unpack my library, nor arrange my study. I began to reflect most solemnly upon my unhappy state of mind, and became more concerned to regain my former peace and joy in God, than to obtain any temporal blessing whatever. The world was a blank, a bleak and howling wilderness, to my soul, without the smiles of my Savior. In fact, that I could not live, but must wither away from the face of the earth, without his comforting and satisfying presence. Like a well-chastised son, I came back to the feet of my Heavenly Father, and with many tears I besought him to reveal his face to my soul; that if my purposes were crossing his to show me; and whatever was his will, I would at once, by his help, yield my soul unto it. “Lord God,” I said, “if my will crosses thy will, then my will must be wrong; for thine cannot but be right.” Now I cared not what he commanded me to do, or to leave undone; I stood ready to obey. I felt assured clear light from God on some points would soon reach my soul; and I was fully prepared for it. But I no more expected such an order as came soon after, than I expected he would command me to fly upward and preach the gospel in another planet. During three days I cried to God, without any answer. On the third day, in the afternoon, I obtained an audience with the Lord. The place was almost as lonely as Sinai, where Moses saw the burning bush. It was under open sky, a considerable distance from the habitations of men; steep rocks and mountains, deep forests, and venomous reptiles, surrounded me. Here, and in a moment, the following passage was given me to plead: “And the Lord descended in the cloud, and stood with him there, and proclaimed the name of the Lord. And the Lord passed by before him, and proclaimed: “The Lord, The Lord God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth, keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity, and transgression, and sin, and that will by no means clear the guilty.” — Exodus 34: 5-7. I took hold of this; many of the words were as fire, and as a hammer to break the rocks in pieces before the Lord. The fountains of tears were opened, and the great deep of my heart was broken up. I left the place, however, without receiving any light; but my heart was fully softened and subdued, and I felt assured I had prevailed in some way with God. I was confident light and direction were coming; but of what nature I could not tell.

“This was on the 9th of July,1839. The same evening, about twilight, eternal glory be to God! When reading in, small, room adjoining my study, a light, as I conceived from heaven, reached me. . My soul was singularly calmed and warned by a strange visitation. In a moment I recognized the change; the following, in substance, was spoken to my heart; but in a manner, and with a rapidity, I cannot possibly describe. Every ray of Divine glory seemed to be a word that the eye of my soul could read, a sentence which my judgment could perceive and understand: ‘These matters which trouble thee must be let entirely alone. The will of God is, that thou shouldst visit Europe. He shall be with thee there, and give thee many seals to thy ministry. He has provided thee with funds. Make thy arrangements accordingly; and, next Conference, ask liberty from the proper authorities, and it shall be granted thee. Visit Canada first; when this is done, sail for England. God shall be with thee there, and thou shalt have no want in all thy journeyings; and thou shalt be brought back in safety again to America’

‘I arose from my knees under a strong conviction that God had called me to take this tour. Letters were written immediately to Canada, etc. The next day my soul was calm and happy. My books were unpacked, and everything in my study arranged with a glad heart and free. Eleven months were before me, to criticize the impressions on my soul.

With delight I commenced my pastoral work, visited from house to house, and had the pleasure of seeing a most powerful revival of religion in my circuit. During this period not the least wish entered my heart to form any connection or engagement whatever that would entangle or hinder me from fulfilling what I conceived to be the high and solemn commission I had received from the Lord. I continued to resign the whole matter to God, entreating him to overrule all to his glory, and to hedge up my way if it were not his will I should leave America.”

THE QUAKER WHO REFUSED TO FIGHT

We clip the following from Lossing’s Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War, Vol. 3, p. 79. It is certainly a remarkable evidence of God’s power to deliver them that put their trust in him. — Editor.

There were some Friends or Quakers from South Carolina in the battle at Gettysburg, who were forced into the ranks, but who, from the beginning to the end, refused to fight. They were from Guilford county, which was mostly settled by their sect, and as the writer can testify by personal observation, presented the only region in that state where the evidences of thrift, which free labor gave in a land cursed by slavery, might be seen. These excellent people were robbed and plundered by the Confederates without mercy. About a dozen of them were in Lee’s army at Gettysburg and were among the prisoners captured there. They had steadily borne practical testimony to the strength of their principles in opposing war. They were subjected to great cruelties.

One of them who refused to fight was ordered by his colonel to be shot. A squad of twelve men were drawn up to shoot him. They loved him as a brother because of his goodness, and when ordered to fire every man refused. The remainder of the company was called up and ordered to shoot the first twelve if they did not execute the order. The intended victim folded his hands, and raised his eyes, and said: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” The entire company threw down their muskets and refused to obey the order. Their exasperated captain, with a horrid oath, tried to shoot him with his pistol. The cap would not explode. Then he dashed upon him with his horse, but the meek conscript was unharmed. Just then a charge of some of Mead’s troops drove the Confederates from their position, and the Quaker became a prisoner. He and his co-religionists were sent to Fort Delaware, when the fact was made known to some of their sect in Philadelphia. It was laid before the President, and he ordered their release.

The PRODIGAL

Theodore Clapp, for many years a minister of religion in the city of New Orleans, narrates the following incident, which occurred within his experience:Several years ago there was a lady, mother-, residing in one of the Northern States, distinguished for her wealth, social position, and religious character. She had a favorite son, for whose advancement in life great efforts had been made. But notwithstanding, he became a profligate and vagabond. I had known the youth in our school-boy days.

The mother addressed to me a letter concerning her lost child. From the latest information she believed that he was wandering in the Southern States. She besought me, if I should meet the hapless fugitive, to acquaint her with the facts, and extend to him such offices of kindness as I might judge expedient. A few days after the receipt of this letter, the young prodigal made his appearance in New Orleans, and found his way to my study. He was in a most woeful plight, both physically and morally. In manners he was rude, audacious, and grossly profane. He wanted money. “Money will do you no good,” said I, “unless you reform your life.” “Reform! ” repeated he; “it is impossible. It is entirely too late. I have no hope; I can never retrieve my steps. I have nothing to live for. I am the execration of all who kn6w me. I have not a friend left in the wide world.”

On his saying this I went to my desk, and took out the letter from his mother. Showing him the superscription, I asked him if he knew the hand-writing. A change came over his manner. He replied with a thoughtful air: “It is my dear mother’s.” I opened the letter, and read to him a single paragraph; and this was-the sentence I read to him “O my Heavenly Father, I beseech Thee to preserve, forgive, and redeem my poor lost child; in Thy infinite mercy, be pleased to restore him to my embrace, and to the joys of sincere repentance.” In a moment he seemed as if struck by some unseen power. He sank down upon his chair, burst into tears, sobbed aloud, and convulsively exclaimed: “O God, forgive my base ingratitude to that beloved mother!

Yes, the thought of that fond parent, in a far-distant and dishonored home, who cherished for him an undying affection, who overlooked all his baseness, who never failed to mingle his outcast name with her morning and evening prayers, the thought of such tenderness broke his obdurate heart, and the waters of penitence rushed forth. From that hour he was a reformed man. He is now an inhabitant of his native place, shedding around him the blessed influence of a sober, useful, and exemplary life. — Mother, Home, and Heaven.