Not only in Sweden and other countries of Europe, but here in America, God used the children to give the message. Not all of them stood up to preach, as did the children in Sweden, because here, you see, the older people could preach. But they all felt the need of getting ready to meet Jesus, and of helping others to do it. Is it not just as grand to help someone quietly, though nobody else knows it, as to help someone where everybody can see it? I'm sure it is. And if we are always thinking of helping somebody else, and not thinking about ourselves, why then the Lord will show us what to do and when to do it, whether it is teaching the commandments, or filling the wood box, or speaking in meeting, or washing the dishes, or maybe sometime preaching when there is nobody else to do it. But you may be sure that anyone who is thinking about himself and what people say of him and what they ought to do for him, will never be able to do God's work.

It was hard for children, as well as for any-body else, to stand for the truth then. When they went to school, oftentimes they were hooted at, and shoved and abused, and called all sorts of names; but they had learned to be gentle and not to say anything bad in reply. Sometimes men who were evil tried to take the children away from their parents and keep them so they would forget Jesus and His coming. They would claim that the fathers and mothers were crazy and not able to take care of their children, and they would get orders from the judge to take the children away. You know in our own times, before the end comes, men will do this to some of the children. Will you be ready for that?

One time, over near Oswego, New York, there lived out in the country a mother who believed in the coming of Jesus, and who had taught her children to believe in it too. A boy of whom I told you one story, Irving Guilford, was sitting in the house one day with this mother and her children. He had been fasting for nine days. As they sat there, this boy had a sort of vision.

"There is somebody coming from the village to get your children," said he to the mother. "There are two men with a warrant."

And pretty soon, as they sat watching in dread, they saw the two men coming down the road.

"Oh, what shall we do?" cried the poor mother.

"Let us pray," said Irving Guilford; and they all knelt down and prayed that God, in this time of trouble, would help them, and not let the children be taken away by wicked men. They all felt assured that the Lord would protect them; and just then the men rapped at the door. The mother opened it, and the men started to come in; but they could not. They backed away from the door, stood looking at the mother a moment, and then, without a word, they turned and walked away. They said afterwards there was an influence that met them at the open door which they could not stand against. The Lord drove them away, and the children were saved.

Not always were the parents helpers, though. Sometimes children believed when their parents didn't. And often this made it very hard for the children. In one place, at West Gardiner, Maine, there were ten or twelve children who believed in the message, and now wanted to be baptized. But some of the older people in the church laughed at them, and told them they weren't old enough to be baptized, that they didn't know what it meant. But they had been listening with their ears open, and their hearts too, and they did know that baptism is meant to show that our old selves are dead and buried, and we rise with the new life that Jesus gives, to live afterwards as Jesus lived. And they would not give up the thought of being baptized. Then some of the people threatened them, and tried to frighten them, but those dear children, some of whom were only seven years old, and some of whom were as old as fifteen, would not be frightened. They knew it was joy to confess Jesus, and that He was as ready to save and bless children as when He was here on earth.

At last their parents sent word to James White to come and baptize them. Still their enemies tried to stop them. They laughed loudly and scornfully. "What does Mr. White think these babies can tell of their experience?" they asked.

But James White loved those children, and he determined he would not let their enemies triumph over them. So he called the people together to the schoolhouse with the children, and he told them he would not be so cruel as to make little children stand up alone and tell of their experience before those who opposed them. He called the children forward to the front seat, and after he had talked, in a short sermon, about baptism and what it means, he asked the children some questions, just as though they were his class in school, and he their teacher. And they stood up one by one and answered the questions, and told how they loved Jesus, and how He had forgiven their sins. Many of the people wept. Then they all went to a beautiful little lake near by, and there the children were buried in baptism by the young minister. They had triumphed, and though of course they had many hard things to meet afterwards, Jesus was very precious to them.

The children felt they had work to do in those days. As I told you before, they used to have little prayer meetings among themselves, where they would pray for one another and for those who were not converted. It was not just a happy feeling they prayed for. That does not always come even when we do right. But they prayed to know right from wrong. And the Lord answered them.

All through the land, the children were working for others, for their playmates and for older people. They prayed for them and led them to pray, and many were converted. But most of all, the children who prayed also worked. If a boy or girl were lazy or disobedient to parents, or loud and rough, do you think their prayers would do very much? I'm sure they wouldn't. And so the real workers were faithful in doing their chores and housework, and in running errands, and in speaking gently and acting modestly. They were real boys and girls, who could run and shout and climb, but they were not rough. And they were ready to give up their own ways and their choicest treasures, if it could help spread the news of Jesus' coming.

There was a little girl at one of the camp meetings in Buckston, Maine, a little girl about six years old. She had learned to love Jesus and to look for His coming. Her greatest treasure was a little pink parasol which had been given her for a present. She loved that parasol so much she used to carry it around all the time, whether the sun was shining or not. She even would take it to bed with her. But she heard that we must give up everything for Jesus, if we would get ready for His coming.

"Oh, dear," she thought, "must I give up my parasol?" One day she sat with her mother in the tent during the meeting, thinking, "I love Jesus; I love my parasol. I love Jesus; I love my parasol. Can I give up my parasol for Jesus?" She grasped it tightly in her arms, looking at it lovingly, and her face went red and white by turns. At last she burst into tears, and cried out loud, "Dear Jesus, I want to love Thee and go to heaven! Take away my sins. I give myself to Thee, parasol and all." And then she threw her arms around her mother, saying, "Oh mother, I'm so happy, for Jesus loves me, and I love Him better than my parasol or anything else."

All the people in the tent rejoiced with her, for they knew it was just as hard for her to give up her parasol as it would be for them to give up their houses and lands. Then the little girl was told that since she was willing to let the parasol go, and it didn't stand between her and Jesus, she might keep it, for it would no longer keep her away from Jesus.

Among those who watched this little girl's devotion was another girl, a very sad girl, whose heart was warmed and helped by the little child's deed of sacrifice. This girl's name was Ellen Harmon. Five years before, she had had a terrible accident. An angry schoolmate had thrown a stone at her and her sister, as they were hurrying away home; and as Ellen turned to look, the stone struck her on the nose, and she fell unconscious. She was taken home, and for three weeks she lay still and white, knowing nothing of what happened. When she awoke, it was to find that the accident had greatly changed the features of her face, so that even her father, when he came home some weeks after-wards, did not know her.

She was sick and weak a long time, and every-one but her mother believed she would die. When she was able to be up, she found that she could not make her mind study, and her hand trembled so she could not write. Her old play-mates shunned her, too, for she looked so very different from the strong and pretty little girl they had known.

Ellen was timid, and the way many treated her made her shrink more and more from being with people or talking with them. But during her sickness she learned how Jesus loved her, and for awhile she was very happy. Then as she saw how she must go through life always feeble and sick, and how she could not study so as to get a good education, as she wished, and how people shunned her, or worse still, pitied her, she felt very bad, and finally she lost the feeling that Jesus loved her. Then she used often to lie awake at night, trembling and crying, sometimes kneeling down while her sister slept, to pray for hours at a time.

So now at this camp meeting she felt very sad. But when she saw what the little girl did, and when she had heard what the ministers were telling the people of how to come to Jesus, she found comfort, and once more the peace of God came to her, and she was happy. The world seemed all new again, the birds and the bees sang praise to Jesus, and the flowers smiled up into His face. As they were driving home, they passed through the streets of their home town, in the midst of workingmen who were talking about common things. But Ellen's ears were tuned to catch only praise, and she thought they were all talking about Jesus, too.

"Why, mother," she said, "these men are all praising God, and they haven't been to the camp meeting."

The tears came into mother's eyes as she smiled, thinking of how it had seemed to her much the same when she was first converted. Ellen was baptized, and joined the Methodist church. Her conscience was very tender, and she often felt that she was too wicked to have God love her. So we all arc aren't we?—too wicked to deserve God's love; and yet He does love us. She read in the Sunday-school books of children who always did just right, and she thought, "I can never be as perfect as they were." Of course; for such children never lived. We all do wrong things. But if, because we love Jesus, we want to do right, He will forgive us when we ask Him to, and make us able to do right more and more. When we do right, it shows other people what Jesus is like, and makes them love Him. God does not give us eternal life in the new earth because we do right, but we do right when He has saved us and Jesus lives in us. And we must come to be perfect before the end.

Ellen grew discouraged again. She believed Jesus was coming in 1844, but she did not see how she could be ready to meet Him. She was very frail and weak and timid. She felt she ought to speak in class-meeting, but she couldn't find courage. And then, knowing she had neglected her duty, she went into despair. But Jesus loved her, and as He saw her bowed down with sorrow, He came to her to comfort her.

One night she had a dream, in which she saw people going into a beautiful temple. Those who would go in, she understood, would be saved when time should close, but all others would be lost. Many were making fun of those who entered, and were pulling them away. At last she pressed her way in, where she saw a bleeding lamb, who represented Jesus. Upon high seats many people were already seated, singing songs of gladness that they were saved. As she pressed forward to get near the lamb, suddenly a trumpet sounded, the building shook, the people cried out in gladness; and then–all was dark, and she awoke to find herself in the silent night, alone.

This dream made her afraid she was lost. But soon she had another, in which a bright angel came to her and said, "Do you wish to see Jesus? He is here, and you may see Him. Take all you have, and follow me." So with her little trinkets all gathered up in her arms, she followed him up a long, frail stairway. It was a dizzy place, and the angel told her to keep her eyes fixed upward, lest she fall. Many were falling. At last, at the top, the angel bade her leave her treasures, and then they entered a building, and she came into the presence of Jesus. He smiled upon her as He had upon the children He blessed in Galilee; and laying His hand upon her head, He said, "Fear not." He showed her many beautiful things, too wonderful to describe, and at last she dreamed that she was taken back to earth again; and she awoke. But now she felt sure that Jesus loved her. Now she told her mother all her troubles, and her mother comforted her, and then sent her to a minister named Stockman. And just as Eli, long time ago, saw that God had been talking with Samuel, so this minister saw that Jesus was working with Ellen; and he said to her, as his eyes filled with tears, "Ellen, you are only a child, but you have had a wonderful experience. Jesus must be preparing you for some special work."

And Ellen went to work. Not only did she, in the Methodist class-meeting and other places, tell of her experience, and how happy she was in preparing to meet Jesus at His soon coming, but she worked with her young friends, gathering them into little meetings for prayer and study. Some of her friends were older, too, a few even married persons. Some were giddy and thoughtless, and they thought it queer for Ellen to work for them. But not discouraged, she prayed earnestly for them, and at last they all, except one, were converted to God, and began to study and work for Jesus, too.

You would think that the church people would be glad to have her do this work. But some of them hated to hear that Jesus was coming, and they said Ellen was too zealous. Nevertheless, she did not lose heart, but went on in her life of prayer and love and helpfulness; and, as you shall see later, the Lord was preparing her for a great and wonderful work.

Going to Exeter camp meeting? Yes, thousands on the way. Wagons, stagecoaches, railroad trains, and steamboats were loaded with people, going to Exeter camp meeting. Exeter is in New Hampshire, at the head of a long arm of Great Bay, near the ocean. It was only a short distance from the states of Maine and Massachusetts, and from all three of these states the people poured in. Even some from New York and farther away attended.

It was in the late summer of 1844. The believers in the coming of Jesus had during this year had more and more opposition in the churches, and very generally they had been cast out or had felt it wise to withdraw. And because they believed in the near coming, or advent, of Jesus, they began to be called Adventists, though as yet they had organized no church, but simply met in companies.

There had been a great disappointment. The Adventist people had looked for the Lord to come in the spring. Why? Well, you remember that the 2300 days, or years, at the end of which the sanctuary was to be cleansed, began in 457 B. C. Twenty-three hundred years from that time comes to the end of the year 1843; only, since the Jewish year begins, not on January 1, but on March 21, the end of the Jewish year 1843 came on March 20, 1844. And they all thought Jesus would come then. But He did not come, and now it was the middle of August.

"Going to Exeter camp meeting?"

"Yes, neighbor; come along. I think well get new light there."

"What light?"

"Why, light on the tarrying time. Haven't you heard we're in the tarrying time? Well, come along to Exeter."

And there the great camp lay spread out, hundreds of tents, many small, some of them large, housing a whole church.

Joseph Bates started from his home away down in Fairhaven, Massachusetts, to go to Exeter. As he traveled on the cars, every once in a while would come to his mind an impression, as though an angel pressed it down: "You are going to have new light here, something that will make the work go with great speed."

He reached the campground, and it was not long until he set out to find the new light. Oh, but you must think how bitterly disappointed the people had been. The prophecy had seemed to fail. Jesus had not come. What could they say to those who scoffed? Yet some there were who believed so thoroughly that Jesus' coming was near, that this spring they had not put in any crops. They thought there would never be another winter. And others, when July came, went out to cut their hay but felt so strongly that Jesus was coming that they left the field and did not gather their crops. There would be no winter in which to need them, they reasoned, and so left them.

So Joseph Bates passed on from tent to tent, stopping at each and asking, "Do you know of any new light on the subject?"

"New light?" said one man he asked. "Come to the Exeter tent. They have new light there."

So to the Exeter tent they went; and seated there, they heard what was called, "The Midnight Cry."

Surely you remember the midnight cry. In a story Jesus told to His disciples, there were ten maidens waiting to meet the bridegroom when he should come. But he tarried and tarried, and they grew weary, and they all fell asleep. Then at midnight arose the cry, "Behold, the bride-groom cometh. Go ye out to meet him." And they all rose up to get ready. That story was made for just this time.

At the Exeter tent they were telling about it. The Adventist people, they said, had been like the maidens who were expecting the bridegroom, Christ. But He did not come in the spring, as they expected Him to. So now they had all been in the "tarrying time," and they had all been asleep. That is, they did not know when to look for Him, and thought perhaps He would never come, and so they began to plan for life on this earth again. Thus they had been asleep. But now they had found the definite time of His coming. How was that? And Joseph Bates, who was a very exact man, and always wanted proof for everything, sat listening very intently now.

How was that? Why, said the speaker, the sanctuary was to be cleansed after 2300 years, beginning with the going forth of the decree to restore and build Jerusalem. (Daniel 8: 14; 9:25.) That decree was made by Artaxerxes, king of Persia, in 457 B. C., and 2300 years brings us down to A. D. 1843. Now if Artaxerxes made the decree to build Jerusalem the very first day of the Jewish year 457 B. C., then the 2300 years would end the last day of the Jewish year, 1843, or the 20th day of March, 1844. But, said the speaker, Artaxerxes did not make the decree on the first day of that year, but several months later, away along in the fall, so that 2300 years from that time would not end until the fall of 1844.

"On just what day, do you ask?" he said. "Here we come to another thing we have overlooked. The prophecy says the sanctuary is to be cleansed at the end of the 2300 years. Well, in the service of the tabernacle or temple among the Jews (which was called the sanctuary), the Day of Atonement, when the sanctuary was cleansed every year, came on the tenth day of the seventh Jewish month." They were getting much nearer to the truth about the sanctuary than they knew, but they did not see it yet. They still thought the sanctuary was this earth.

"Well," he went on,—and he reckoned it all out before them,—" the tenth day of the Jewish seventh month falls this year on October 22. That is therefore the Day of Atonement, when the sanctuary will be cleansed. And therefore, on that day, the twenty-second of October, 1844, Jesus will come."

Joseph Bates heaved a long sigh of satisfaction. It was as clear as day. And so it is to us, only we know now that the sanctuary is not this earth, and that therefore the cleansing of the sanctuary did not mean the coming of Jesus.

But on that day, October 22, 1844, Jesus entered upon His work of cleansing the sanctuary. And what that means we shall find out before we have finished this book.

"This is the call," said the speaker, "that goes out at midnight: 'Behold, the Bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet Him!' We have all been asleep, brethren; let us awake and trim our lamps, that we may be ready when the Bride-groom comes."

"Amen! Amen!" said deep voices. And from back in the tent rose the beginning of a song:

"We will all go out to meet Him

When He comes, when He comes.

Behold, He cometh! Behold, He cometh!

Be robed and ready, for the Bridegroom comes."

Thus began the midnight cry. One minister, S. S. Snow, had believed for several months that the time the Lord would come was October 22, 1844. The year before this, William Miller had called attention to the tenth day of the seventh month as something very important, but he did not know just what. Now, when Snow had been preaching this midnight cry, Miller, Himes, and other leading men, were very slow in taking it up.

They hardly thought it was true. But at the Exeter camp meeting the message came with such power that none could resist it, and soon Himes, Miller, and all the other ministers believed it and began to preach it.

When Bates returned from the Exeter camp meeting to his home, another minister, named Macomber, went with him. The brethren at home at first could scarcely believe the midnight cry was right. The next Sunday after reaching home, Bates and Macomber attended the Adventist meeting in New Bedford, two miles away.

R. Hutchinson, from Canada, was preaching. But it seemed he could not say anything; he was confused. And at last he sat down, saying, "I can't preach." Macomber was sitting on the platform with him. He rose, much excited, remembering what had been told at the Exeter camp meeting. "Oh," he exclaimed, "I wish I could tell you what I have seen and heard, but I cannot," and he sat down, too.

Then Joseph Bates rose from his seat in the room, saying, "I can." And with words flowing as easily as water down a watercourse, he told of the new light of the midnight cry. The Lord gave him special help in making the people see. When he had finished, a sister came across the room, and said, "Brother Bates, I want you to preach that same good news to us this afternoon."

Hutchinson now rose, and said, "If what Brother Bates says is true, I don't wonder that my preaching sounded like carpenter's chips."

Bates preached to them that evening, and when the sermon closed, the people rose in
groups to speak, rejoicing that the Lord had given them the new light; and the cry went out, "Behold, the Bridegroom cometh. Go ye out to meet' Him!"

Vast and far the midnight cry sounded over the land. A paper called The Midnight Cry was quickly started, and it was scattered everywhere, telling of the mistake in reckoning which had been made, how it had been found out, and showing that the cleansing of the sanctuary was to begin on October 22, 1844. It called attention to the parable of the ten virgins, the story that Jesus told for just this time. And don't you suppose they were glad to see how Jesus had thought of them down through so many years, and had told this story to encourage them here?

Everywhere the midnight cry was received, the people showed by their lives that they were truly getting ready for Christ. They searched their lives to find what faults they had, they prayed much, and all sought to be ready for Jesus when He should come. Those who truly believed showed by what they did that they believed. Some professed to believe, but did not really, and they showed this by what they did.

One man who said he believed Jesus was coming October 22, had a drove of hogs at just the right age for keeping over for the spring market. A stockman went to him to buy the hogs.

"No," said the man, "I don't think I'll sell them now." And the stockman went away and told his people, "That man doesn't believe what he says he does."

"Why, how do you know?" they asked.

"Because," the stockman answered, "he says he believes the world is coming to an end this fall, and yet he doesn't want to sell his hogs until spring. He needn't talk to me; he doesn't believe a word of it."

But they who did believe showed it by what they did. They left their crops ungathered, their winter apples on the trees, their potatoes in the ground. And that did more preaching than any words they might have said.

Soon it came close down to the day of October 22. And over all the country the Adventist ministers ceased preaching, the believers gathered together, the work stopped, and all waited for the great day. And in that little time of waiting, when there was no more work to be done, there came men who had waked up too late. They had loved their money so much that they would not give it before. But now they felt sure the Lord was coming, and they brought their money in. Into the offices of the Adventist papers they came, and laid thousands of dollars before the editors. "Take it for the work," they begged.

"We can't now," they answered, "we don't need it. We have hired printing presses to run day and night, and we have paid for them in advance: we don't want any more money."

"Then," the men urged, ‘take it and give it to the poor."

"No," said they, "we have provided for all the poor we can reach until the great day. We can't use your money."

And the men, the selfish men who had held on to their money until too late, turned away in anguish, saying, "It is too late! It is too late! God will not take our money now."

Were they not like the foolish maidens in the parable, whose lamps had gone out? So will it be in the very last time. And some will come up too late to the door; for the Bridegroom will say, "I know you not," and there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

The last day! What a sound it has. No doubt, children, you have used that phrase many times, and it always meant a great deal to you. Perhaps it was the last day of school, and you looked out on the sunny fields and the deep, cool woods or the river, and you twitched in your seat for joy at the thought of the free days coming. Perhaps it was the last day of vacation, and you braced your mind, after its long rest from books, to take up a new year of study, and you rejoiced at the thought that you would be further along by the end of another year.

The last day! How you turned to take a last look at the familiar things: the teacher's desk, with its books and its globe and its strings of beads; the cabinet on the north wall, filled with insects and rocks and polished woods; and the peg where your cap always hung. Or else, that autumn day, the orchard playhouse under the apple tree, or the swimming hole by the tall old elms, the wild strawberry glades and the clumps of wild plum, with fruit long ago gone, but still sweet in memory. And in whichever place you were, you said with a sigh half of gladness, half of regret, "It's the last day."

But can you think what the last day meant in that long ago time, to the people who said, as they watched the sun go down: "Tomorrow is the last day. We shall never see the sun set red again. Nor shall we have to hear the curses of the drunken and the scoffing tomorrow night. We have eaten our last supper on earth; the next we shall take with Jesus and the millions of the saved, in the light of the New Jerusalem. To-morrow will see those blue skies rent, and our Saviour coming in glory. Tomorrow will stop the mocking mouth. Tomorrow will see the earth heaved up, mountains sinking, the ground opening, the sea rushing in, the cities in ruins, the earth reeling. Tomorrow we shall see Jesus. It is the last day"?

And as the farm boy did the milking, he thought, "This is the last time." As the ditch-digger put up his spade, he said, "I have no more use for you." As the merchant shut the door of his shop, he said, "This is the last time I shall turn the key."

And they had to think, "There's my neighbor who does not believe Jesus is coming. I shall never see him after tomorrow. But I have done my duty in warning him. And there might be Aunt Eliza, and Uncle John; there might be Cousin Amy, and Phil, and little Josie. Oh, why would they not hear?" And the tears fell fast.

"Tomorrow is the last day. And we shall see Abraham and Moses and Elijah in the kingdom of heaven. And we shall see Jesus. We shall walk on the streets of gold. We shall soon see the beautiful green fields of earth restored as in Eden. No more of this fair earth, this dark earth. Tomorrow is the last day."

And the sun came up that twenty-second day of October, 1844. The children were all up, with their fathers and mothers; for who could tell whether the coming should be at dawn or at evening? And the house was swept, and the furniture in order. There was nothing to do but wait.

Where there were a number of Adventists together, they gathered in their meetinghouse, or sometimes out in the country, in the woods. When they were alone, they stayed in their houses; for they feared to go out where the unbelievers could find them.

And those unbelievers trembled. For all they shouted and made merry, yet in their hearts they trembled; for they said, "Suppose it should be! Suppose it should be!" But toward the trusting ones they acted angrily. If they met one, they pushed and jostled and jeered at him. And in some places the wicked gathered in companies to mock and make fun of those who looked for Jesus. What shrieks of terror they would have sent up had the dreadful event they mocked at come upon them!

The sun mounted higher and higher in the sky; but still the faithful watched. They watched and prayed. Sometimes, softly, they sang an advent hymn. For the last time they confessed their sins against one another. Their hearts must be made pure.

But they were not left quietly alone. In some places mobs gathered around their places of worship, and mocked them, calling out to them, as the wicked children of Bethel had to Elisha, "Go up! Go up! Why don't you go up?" And they sang rude songs, and pounded on the houses with clubs and stones.

The Adventist believers made their ears deaf to all these things. What did it matter, they thought: it would be only a little while, a few hours at the most, when all this would be changed; those who mocked now would shriek with terror when they should see the King, sitting upon the great white cloud, come to judge the world. And they looked longingly through the windows for the sign of His coming.

The sun passed the noon, it kept evenly on its way down, down the sky. At last it neared the horizon. Yet still there was time. The day was not quite gone. Jesus would yet come: He would not disappoint His people. So all over the land this cry of their hope went up from the hearts of men, women, and children who were looking for Jesus.

But slowly, slowly, the sun went down. Its lower rim touched the hills, and quickly it sank out of sight. The day was gone, the great tenth day of the seventh month. Jesus had not come.

Into one another's blank faces brethren and sisters looked. The children clung to the hands of father and mother. No one could speak a word; no one could explain. Silently, with hearts crushed within them, they slipped out of doors, and by dark ways, to keep out of sight of the mob, they went sadly to their homes. They groped their way into the dark rooms, they felt around to find their seats; they dared not light their lamps. Outside somewhere the roughs of the town would be celebrating the failure, drinking, singing, joking. And the fathers and the mothers gathered their children within their arms, and sat silent, choking back their grief.

"Why didn't He come, father?" How the words of the little child struck into the heart!

"We can't tell, my children. We shall have to wait, wait and see." And spent with grief, they slept.

Jesus did not fail. That day, October 22, 1844, was the tenth day of the seventh month, and on that day, according to prophecy, Jesus began to cleanse the sanctuary. Great things were going on in heaven that day, for the great High Priest, Jesus, was being escorted by angels into the holiest place of the sanctuary. And there, on that day, He began His work, which is still going on, and now almost finished.

And He did not forget His waiting people on earth. Though they were disappointed, cast down, though they knew not what to think, that night Jesus looked down with great love upon them, and strong angels were sent to watch over them and keep them; and if they would be patient, they should soon see what mistake they had made, they should understand in what glorious work they had been engaged, and from their disappointment they should gain new courage.

It is a day to be remembered, October 22, 1844. On that day Jesus began the closing work which you and I know is now almost finished. And when He has finished it, He will quickly come to earth, even as the tried and faithful ones then looked to see Him come. Then He will reap the harvest of the earth.

Is it not a good day for us to remember? Can we not, on that day, have a great festival? Our harvests have been gathered in, and then we may thank the Lord for them. Jesus' harvest will soon be gathered in; and children, may you and I be gathered in that harvest. So on this day we may rejoice at what we have and what is promised, recounting the stories of what has happened to God's people since this message began, and looking forward to the time when it shall all be finished.

"Till He come,"-0 let the words

Linger on the trembling chords;

Let the "little while" between

In their golden light be seen;

Let us think how heaven and home

Lie beyond that—" Till He come."

—Bickersteth.

The dawn is breaking o'er us.

Look up, ye sons of night!

There stretches on before us

Eternal day's delight.

Oh lift your trouble-burdened eyes,

To meet the promise of the skies.

The dawn is breaking o'er us.

Eternal morn is near.

The night that long outwore us

Shrinks back in mortal fear.

O Earth, farewell! Our spirit flies

To greet our kingdom in the skies.

Over in the western part of New York, on the Erie Canal, there lies the snug little town of Port Gibson. In 1844 there was here a small company who believed Jesus would come on the tenth day of the seventh month; that is, October 22. Led by Hiram Edson, they gathered together to pray and to wait. But, just as everywhere else, the day passed slowly by, the sun sank, and they were left alone: Jesus had not come.

Ah! What a time of sadness! Men and women all cried; it seemed they could not pray. Worse it was to them than if they had lost father, mother, all brothers and sisters, and every friend. The night drew on, and some quietly slipped away to their homes. The others stayed, scarcely noticing their going, and still they wept and grieved, until at last the dawn of a new day came. And its grayness seemed the grayness of their lives. Was there, then, they reasoned to themselves, to be no second coming of Christ? Was the Bible all false? Was there no Jesus who had died for them? Should they never see that golden-home city of the redeemed, nor walk in that country whose inhabitants should say, "I am no more sick"? Could there be no God at all?

"Not so, brethren," said Hiram Edson to the few who remained; "I remember how many times the Lord has sent us help and light when we needed it. There is a God, and He will hear us. Let us go and seek Him for light on this matter."

And so the brethren went out of the house in the gray dawn, back to the barn, and opening the granary they went in, closed the door, and kneeled down to pray. I cannot tell you what they said, nor how they were comforted; but of this I am sure, that they knew their prayers were heard and accepted in heaven where Jesus was, and they were promised they should know what their disappointment meant.

After breakfast, Edson said to one of his friends who was still with him, "Let us go over to see some of the brethren and comfort them." So they started across-lots, these two, going through a cornfield, where the corn had been cut, and stood in shocks. They were both thinking very deeply, and each walked without thinking of the other.

They came to the middle of the field, and suddenly Hiram Edson felt as it were a hand upon him, stopping him where he was. It seemed as though a glory shone around him, and looking as in a vision he saw that Jesus, our High Priest, had entered that day into the Most Holy Place of the sanctuary in heaven, and there he would stay until He had finished the work of cleansing it.

The other man had gone on, not noticing that Edson had stopped. Now, coming to himself at the fence on the other side of the field, he paused, and looked around for his companion, and there he saw him away back in the middle of the field.

"Brother Edson," he called, "what are you stopping for?"

And Edson called back, "He is answering our morning prayer."

Then, coming up, Edson began telling him what he had seen and heard. "My mind," he said, "is carried to the tenth and eleventh chapters of Revelation, where John was told to take a little book from the angel's hand and eat it. It tasted like honey in the mouth, but when he had eaten it, it was as bitter as gall. That is our experience, brother," said Hiram Edson. "We have taken the book of the prophecies. Was it not sweet when we took it, to know that Jesus was coming yesterday? But now it is bitter, very bitter. Yet He says we must prophesy again before many people and nations and tongues. And the sanctuary, I saw, is in heaven, and Jesus yesterday entered upon His work of cleansing it."

It seemed very new and strange to them both, but they believed, though they could not under-stand, and then they went on to tell the brethren.

Among Edson's friends was a Doctor Hahn, who lived at Canandaigua, on Lake Canandaigua, twelve miles away. He and his wife were believers in Jesus' coming. There was also a young man by the name of O. R. L. Crosier, who lived sometimes with Doctor Hahn and sometimes with Mr. Edson. He was a talented young man, and had helped in the spreading of the Second Advent message.

These three had been publishing a paper called The Day Dawn, to help give the warning. They could not put it out every week, for they were poor, but as often as they could get enough money, they would hire the printing office at Canandaigua to print a number of The Day Dawn.

Edson made a visit to Hahn and Crosier, and told them what had been revealed to him in regard to the sanctuary.

"Will the Bible bear that out?" asked Crosier.

"I believe it will, for I am sure it is the truth," said Edson.

Then Mr. Crosier began to study to see what he could find about the sanctuary question. And this is what he found:

"Sanctuary" means a sacred place, where God dwells.

The earth is never in the Bible called the sanctuary.

The tabernacle made by the Israelites in the wilderness, was called the sanctuary, and afterwards the temple built in Jerusalem was also called the sanctuary.

There were two rooms in this sanctuary, the first called the Holy Place, the second the Most Holy Place. In the Most Holy Place was the sacred ark, which held the law of God, the Ten Commandments, and upon its cover, called the mercy seat, there dwelt always a bright light, which was the presence of God Himself.

Into this Most Holy Place of the sanctuary the high priest went only once every year. He went in on the tenth day of the seventh month, and that day was called the Day of Atonement. The high priest went in before the ark, where God dwelt. He swung before him a censer filled with burning incense. There he stayed for some time, while the people outside all waited, breathless, listening to hear the tinkle of the little bells upon his robe when he should come out. They did not know but that for their sins God would slay their high priest. But he always came out, bearing upon him the sins of the people. All the year long, the people had confessed their sins here at the sanctuary, slaying a lamb or some other animal at the same time, and the priest sprinkled some of its blood in the sanctuary. This was said to carry the people's sins into the sanctuary, and on this Day of Atonement the high priest was said to cleanse the sanctuary, by taking away the sins of the people.

At the door of the tabernacle, or temple, a goat was brought to the high priest, and laying his hands upon the goat's head, he confessed over him the sins of the people, and then the goat was sent away to wander in the wilderness.

The high priest stood for Christ, who is our High Priest. The lamb which the sinner slew also stood for Christ, who was slain for our sins. The goat stood for Satan, who will have to bear all the sins that are forgiven, and be punished for them. And the sanctuary on earth was made after the pattern of one in heaven, so it stood for that sanctuary.

Therefore, there is a sanctuary in heaven, where Christ acts as our High Priest. At the end of the 2500 days He goes in to cleanse the sanctuary from all the sins of His people since the world began; and when He has finished cleansing the sanctuary, He will come out to His waiting people. All their sins are taken away, and He will lay these sins on Satan, who will have to die for them. And then Jesus will take His people home.

Prom the prophecy of Daniel 8: 14 we know that the cleansing of the sanctuary was to begin in 1844, and on the twenty-second day of October. So on that day, instead of coming to earth, Jesus began to cleanse the sanctuary in heaven, and in that sanctuary He is now. When He has finished its cleansing, He will come to receive His people. We are the people watching in the court, listening to hear His coming step. We cannot tell how long it will be, but we know it cannot be long.

All this Mr. Crosier found from studying the Bible. "That agrees," he said, "with what Brother Edson saw and heard. The sanctuary is in heaven."

This was talked over by all the brethren, and especially by Edson, Hahn, and Crosier. Said the first two to Crosier, "We must get out another number of The Day Dawn, and tell this to the believers everywhere."

Their friends there near them were glad to hear this truth, for it explained their disappointment, and showed that Jesus had not left them, and they might expect Him to come very soon.

So they agreed that if they could get money, they would send out this truth in The Day Dawn. And they worked and worked, and secured enough money at last, and oh, how glad they were to see the paper when it came from the printing office.

Over a year had passed by since Brother Edson saw that truth; for you see it had taken Brother Crosier and the others a long time to study it out from the Bible, and then they had to teach the brethren near them, and then they had to get the money to pay for the paper. So it was in the early part of 1846 that they published this light on the sanctuary in The Day Dawn.

They sent it out to all the believers whose names they could find. And very soon back came letters, some of them thanking God for the light, others doubting. Among them was a letter from James White, and another from Joseph Bates. Each of these men, one in Maine, the other in Massachusetts, had received a copy of the paper. "You have the truth," each of them wrote; "we endorse what you have written about the sanctuary. Can we not have a conference of those who believe this new light, that we may be firmly united?"

So the brethren in western New York appointed a conference to be held at Hiram Edson's place, and invited James White and Joseph Bates to come. Both tried to come, but White could not, and only Bates came from the East.

They had a good time studying the sanctuary question, and found joy together in this light God had given. But Joseph Bates had another message. He talked to them about their duty to keep the seventh day as the Sabbath. For you know they had all been keeping Sunday before this. And one day he preached to them on the Sabbath question, showing them that God set apart the seventh day at creation for His holy Sabbath, and that it had never been taken away, only people had begun to keep Sunday, a heathen holiday, in its place.

When Joseph Bates had finished, Edson arose and said, "I thank God I have found a man who can stand up and say, 'seventh-day Sabbath.' I stand with you side by side."

Then Crosier arose and said, "Better go slowly, brethren, better go slowly. Let us be cautious, and not step upon new planks until we know whether they will hold us up or not."

"I have been studying the question of the Sabbath for a long time," answered Edson, "and for my part I have put my weight on it, and I know it is a plank that will hold us up."

And Doctor Hahn said, "That's the truth," and his wife said, "It is the truth," and several others also at that time stood up for the Sabbath. But Crosier, though for a time he kept the Sabbath, soon gave it up, and after this he walked no more with the brethren.

Now why do you suppose Joseph Bates was preaching about the Sabbath, and who was sup-porting him? Well, that's the next story.

There is a bridge across the Acushnet River, in Massachusetts, connecting Fairhaven with New Bedford. Now it is a steel and concrete bridge; a hundred years ago it was a wooden bridge. And it was nearly a hundred years ago that, on a spring morning, two old friends met on that wooden bridge.

"What's the news, Captain Bates?" sang out Mr. Hall.

And Captain Bates replied, "The news is that the seventh day is the Sabbath."

This was not the news that Mr. Hall was expecting. He had thought that perhaps he would hear that the "Eliza Jane" was in port, or that the good brig "Empress" had brought in a cargo worth thirty thousand dollars, or perhaps that Captain Bates had felt a twinge of rheumatism (which would be news indeed!) or that Texas had come into the Union. But Captain Bates's mind was filled with more important things. He had but now come back from a visit to the little company of Adventists in Washington, New Hampshire, who he had heard were keeping the seventh-day Sabbath. They had been taught by Rachel Preston, a Seventh Day Baptist, and a number of them had started keeping the Sabbath. Captain Bates was convinced by the Bible evidence they showed him. Strange, he thought, that a thing so clear in the law of God should have been hidden to his eyes so long. But now that he saw, he must declare.

"The news, Brother Hall," he said, "is that the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord our God."

"Well," said Mr. Hall, "I'll go home and study my Bible on that." He did; and the next time he met Captain Bates, he reported that both he and his wife were also keeping the Sabbath.

This was in the spring of 1845, and so you see that Joseph Bates had been keeping the Sabbath for over a year when he went to the conference at the home of Hiram Edson and testified there concerning it. Shortly after that conference he decided that he must write a book or pamphlet about the true Sabbath; for he knew that he could send this truth much better if he had it printed, since books could go to a thousand places while he was going to one.

Yet how could he write a book? He was as poor as Himes when the Signs of the Times was started. Perhaps he was poorer; he had only a York shilling,—twelve and a half cents. When he accepted the second advent message he was worth about eleven thousand dollars; but, believing with all his heart that Jesus was soon coming, he sold off his property and used the money in giving the message. And now he had nothing left but this York shilling.

However, he prayed about the matter, and he felt assured that God wanted him to write the little book about the Sabbath. So he sat down at his desk, with his Bible before him, and began to write. He had not gone very far in his writing when his wife, coming in from the kitchen, opened the door and said, "Joseph, I haven't enough flour to finish the baking."

"How much flour do you lack?" asked her husband.

"About four pounds," she said.

"Very well," said he. And getting up, he took a six-quart milk pan from the kitchen shelf, went out to the grocery store, and bought a panful of flour. He took it home, put it in the kitchen while his wife was out, and went back to his writing.

In no time Mrs. Bates came in again. "Joseph," said she, "where did this flour come from?"

"Why," said he, "isn't there enough? You said you wanted four pounds."

"Yes," said she, "but where did you get it?" "I bought it," said he.

"You, Captain Bates, a man who has sailed vessels out of New Bedford to all parts of the world, have been out and bought four pounds of flour!"

"Wife," said Joseph Bates, "I spent for that flour the last money I have on earth."

Mrs. Bates threw her apron up to her eyes, and began to cry. She had not known before that her husband had spent the last of his money in the cause. Sobbing bitterly, she cried, "What are we going to do?"

Joseph Bates arose, and standing up to his full height, he said impressively, "I am going to write a book, and I am going to circulate it, and spread this Sabbath truth before the world."

"Well, but," said Mrs. Bates, still weeping, "what are we going to live on?"

"The Lord is going to open the way," answered her husband smilingly.

"Yes, 'the Lord is going to open the way,' she returned. "That's what you always say." And bursting into a fresh flood of tears, she left the room.

Joseph Bates sat down and began writing again on his Sabbath pamphlet. In about half an hour it was impressed on his mind that there was a letter at the post office for him, and he should go and get it. So he went out, and down to the post office.

"Is there a letter for me, Mr. Drew?" he asked.

The postmaster looked. "Yes, there is, Captain Bates," he said; "postage due, five cents." In those days people could pay the postage when they sent the letter, or not, just as they pleased. If they didn't, it had to be paid by the person to whom the letter was sent. And here was the postage to be paid, and Bates hadn't a cent.

"Mr. Drew," he said to the postmaster, "I am out of money; I haven't even the five cents to pay the postage. But will you let me see where the letter is from?"

"Oh, that's all right, Captain Bates," said the postmaster, "take it along and pay some other time," and he handed him the letter.

"No," said Bates, "I will not take the letter from the post office until the postage is paid." It was a principle of his not to go into debt.

But he looked at the letter, and said, "I feel that there is money in this letter." And handing it back to the postmaster, he asked, "Will you please open it? If there is money in it, you take the postage out; if not, I will not read it."

The postmaster opened it, and the first thing to meet his eye was a ten-dollar bill! He made change, took out the postage, and gave the rest of the money, with the letter, over to Joseph Bates. It was from a man who said in the letter that the Lord had impressed his mind that Captain Bates needed money.

Joseph Bates walked off down town, bought a barrel of flour and some potatoes and sugar and other things, called a drayman, and told him to take the things up to his house. "Probably my wife will tell you the goods don't belong there, but don't you pay any attention to what she says. Unload the goods just as I have told you, on the front porch."

"Yes, Captain," said the drayman, "I will do just as you have ordered."

Then Bates went down to the printing office, and hired them to print one thousand pamphlets for him as quickly as they could. This was to be the Sabbath book. He said he would pay as fast as he had the money, and would take no books from the office until all were paid for. Where he would get the money, he didn't know, but he was sure the Lord would send it to him.

He stopped on his way home to buy some paper and pens, and by the time he reached his house the groceries had come and were on the front porch. He went in at the back door, and sat down at his desk again. Pretty soon in came his wife in great excitement, and said, "Joseph, just look out there. Where did that stuff come from? A drayman drove up here and just would unload it. I told him it didn't belong here, that we had no money with which to buy such things, but he declared this was the exact number where it was to be left. And he left it all, and drove off."

"Well," said her husband, "I guess it's all right."

"But where did it come from? " she persisted. "Why," said he, "the Lord sent it."

"Oh, yes," she answered, "' the Lord sent it", that's what you always say."

Then he handed the letter to her, and said, "Read this, and you will learn where it came from." She read it, and then she went out for another cry, but that was because she was ashamed of her lack of faith. And pretty soon she came back and asked her husband's forgiveness.

Joseph Bates wrote his book, the printer printed it, and the money came in for it, all in good time. H. S. Gurney, who you remember went with Joseph Bates on his trip in the South, received some money on a debt he had thought would never be paid, and with a part of this he paid the last of the printing bill. And with the book the truth began to spread more and more.

So Joseph Bates began to teach among the Adventists the truth of the Sabbath. And as you shall see in the stories that follow, the Lord blessed his self-sacrifice, and soon brought greater light and power from heaven for the teaching of this testing truth. And those who from this time on came together in the faith of the Lord's coming, the heavenly sanctuary service, and the seventh-day Sabbath, made the first of the people who have come to be known by the name Seventh-day Adventists.

Before the passing of the time, God gave first to one young man, then to another, a vision which would have prepared His people to understand their disappointment and the work remaining for them to do. But these young men, each in turn, refused to give the message because they did not understand it. Later, at different times, each of them heard the same message given by the third one whom God chose, and it was recalled to their minds that this was the message that was given to them but which they had neglected. Who this third messenger was I will tell you.

Not two months had gone by after the passing of the time, when one day at morning worship five women were kneeling in prayer. One of these was Ellen Harmon. You remember how frail and sick this young girl had been ever since her accident. But she had believed Jesus was coming on the tenth day of the seventh month, and this hope had kept her up. Since the passing of the time she had grown worse very fast. The doctor said she had consumption, that one lung was useless and the other almost so. He said she would die in a very short time. At night she could not lie down, but had to be bolstered up with pillows, in order to sleep at all. Often she would be awakened with coughing, and bleeding from the lungs. Her voice was almost gone.

This morning, as these five were bowed together, Ellen began in a whisper to pray. She did not yet understand why Jesus had not come, and with these sisters she was praying earnestly for light about it. As she prayed, God came down by His Holy Spirit. All felt the influence, but Ellen most of all. In a moment she passed out of knowledge of things around her. She felt the power of God more than she had before in her dreams. Light and glory seemed all about her, and as though on wings she felt herself rising higher and higher from the earth.

She looked for her fellow believers, to see if they were going too, but she could not find them. Then a voice said, "Look again, and look a little higher." She raised her eyes, and saw a long, narrow path, high above the earth. It led on to the Holy City, far up the path. Behind them was a light set, and an angel told her that was "The Midnight Cry." Some of the people on the path denied that the light behind them, which was shining now on their way, was true, and shortly they stumbled and fell off the path to the dark world below.

Soon the faithful ones heard the voice of God telling them the day and hour when Jesus would come. All the people traveling on the path now numbered just one hundred forty-four thousand. At this time she saw them surrounded by wicked men, who would rush up to catch them and put them into prison, or to kill them; but when they tried to do it, they would fall helpless.

Very soon the waiting ones saw in the east a small black cloud, about half as large as a man's hand. It was the cloud of angels coming with Jesus. As it drew nearer, it grew lighter and lighter, until it was a great white cloud. Fire glowed below it, and a rainbow stretched over it. Then they could see Jesus in plain view, sitting on the cloud. "His hair was white and curly, and lay on His shoulders; and upon His head were many crowns. His feet had the appearance of fire; in His right hand was a sharp sickle, in His left a silver trumpet." His bright eyes seemed to pierce through every soul; but, though the faces of the righteous paled, there was no sin in them, and Jesus' gaze upon them was loving, and He said, "Those who have clean hands and pure hearts shall be able to stand; My grace is sufficient for you." All their faces lighted up, and they shouted and sang.

Then Jesus, wrapped in flames of glory, came near to the earth on the cloud. He put His silver trumpet to His lips, and far, far over all the earth it sounded. And He cried, "Awake, awake, awake! ye that sleep in the dust, and arise." The earth heaved in a great earthquake, the graves opened, and from land and sea the righteous dead came forth to meet their living friends and the angels and Jesus.

When Ellen had seen these things in vision, an angel seemed to bear her gently down again to this dark world. When she came out of vision, she found herself in the midst of her four friends, still at the worship hour.

Very soon after this, another vision was given her, in which the angel told her she must go and tell the people what the Lord revealed to her. She was shown that many people would hate her, that she would have to endure sickness and evil words and hatred, but that God would sustain her.

This vision greatly troubled her, for it told her that she, a seventeen-year-old girl, small, frail, and timid, must go out into the world and teach people, very often that which they did not wish to hear. It seemed she could not do it.

She was sick, and so hoarse she could talk only in a whisper.

So she prayed for several days, far into the night, that the Lord would not require her to do this. But all the answer she received, just as had William Miller, was, "Make known to others what I have revealed to you." She longed to die. Naturally she wanted to be loved, not hated; sick, she wanted to shrink out of sight, not push forward in taking to people and teaching them.

At last the church in Portland, to whom she had told her first vision, all gathered to pray for her, and they encouraged her. She was taken off in vision again, and a bright angel said to her these words from Jesus: "Make known to others what I have revealed to you."

"But," she cried, "I am afraid. I have seen others who have told what the Lord had revealed to theta, and they became so proud over it that they sinned, and God left them. I am afraid I shall do the same. Oh, if I must go," she cried, "will not the Lord keep me from becoming proud and sinful?"

"Your prayer is heard," said the angel; "if you are in danger of becoming proud and self-exalted, God will save you. He will stretch out His hand upon you and smite you down in sickness, and so draw you to Himself and keep you humble. Deliver the message faithfully. Endure to the end, and you shall eat the fruit of the tree of life, and drink of the water of life."

So Ellen was encouraged, and from this time on she was faithful in giving her unpopular message.

Joseph Bates had come up for a conference at Topsham, Maine. It was in November, 1846, over two years after the disappointment. Some of the others present were James White, J. N. Andrews, H. S. Gurney (with whom Bates had worked in the South), and Ellen Harmon. Three months before, she and James White had been married. Thus she was given by the Lord a strong protector, on whom in her weakness she might lean, but to whom also she was to be the greatest strength. You know from what I have told you how strong and fearless and devoted James White had been, and you know how faithful Miss Harmon had been in the work God had given her to do. But perhaps you do not know, as they could not know then, how great and mighty was to be the work they should accomplish in the years to come. From this time on we know Ellen Harmon as Mrs. Ellen G. White.

At this time Mrs. White did not see the importance of keeping the seventh-day Sabbath, which Joseph Bates urged, and Joseph Bates was not sure that the visions of Mrs. White were from the Lord, though he was sure she was a good and faithful Christian who believed what she told. And here the Lord brought them both, and all the brethren with them, to believe the truth each had.

Bates had been, as you remember, a captain of ships on the sea. All seamen study the stars, for these are often about all they have to see, and the captains have to sail their vessels, often-times, by the positions of the stars. So Captain Bates was a great lover of astronomy, which means the study of the stars and other bodies in the sky. Mrs. White, on the other hand, knew nothing about it, for you remember how she was kept from school. And when Joseph Bates tried to talk with her about the heavenly bodies, she could not understand very much, and told him she had never looked into a book on astronomy.

But one day, here in the conference, she was taken off in vision when he was present, and for the first time the Lord showed her some of the planets, which are worlds much like our own. Through telescopes men have discovered many things about them which we cannot see with our naked eyes. For instance, Jupiter, the largest of the planets near us, has not one moon, as we have, but four; while Saturn, another planet, has at least eight, though only seven had been discovered then. And up in its sky it has great beautiful bands of different colors which extend all the way around it.

In vision, then, Mrs. White was taken to see these planets, and as she talked about them, describing them, Captain Bates, his face wreathed in smiles, would say, "Now she is viewing Jupiter," and, "She is describing Saturn," and so on. She told much more than astronomers knew about these, for they are not sure the planets are inhabited, but she saw that they are. On Saturn she saw good old Enoch, who was translated five thousand years ago, without dying. He said that was not his home, that he was only visiting there, that he lived in heaven, where God dwells, and there he was waiting until the earth should be restored as it had been in Eden. The people of these worlds were all very much more beautiful and strong than the people of earth, for sin has never entered there.

But after seeing the planets, she seemed to pass over a great distance in the heavens, until she came to the place that is called "the gap in the sky." When she began to describe this, Elder Bates rose to his feet in great excitement. "She is giving a more wonderful description," he said, " than any astronomer ever dreamed of." And still she spoke of its great beauty, with the four great stars far apart as its gates, and the glory, the wonderful glory, shining through. The heavens beyond, she said, made a region more enlightened. This indeed is the gateway from our part of the universe into the central heaven where God dwells.

I am sure you want to know where this wonderful gap in the sky is. It will not look to you at all like a gap when you see it. You would have to look through the most powerful telescope in all the world to see much, and then you could not see as much as she saw in vision. To us it looks just like a faint star, but through the telescope it is shown to be a very glorious place, with many great stars in it, and a place of wonderful light in the center. Now let me tell you how to find it in the sky, though you can probably never see anything of its glory until in the company of Jesus you pass through it on the way to heaven.

In the wintertime,—for in midsummer you cannot see it at all, in the wintertime, if you look up into the sky toward the south, about half way up to the zenith (the top of the sky) you will find a group of six stars, shaped somewhat like a kite with a tail. At least that is what I thought of when I was a boy. On page 194 you will find a picture of the group, and another of the gap in the sky as it looks through a telescope. Astronomers call the four stars that make the square, "the belt of Orion," and the lowest of the four, with the two below it, they call "the sword of Orion." The middle one of these three stars is fainter than the other two, as you will see. It looks rather hazy. It is not really one star, but a great many, millions upon millions of miles apart, only they are so far away from us that they look like one star. And in the middle of them all there are four stars, which are still millions upon millions of miles apart. And all in between these four there is a glorious light, the light of the great heaven beyond. This is "the gap in the sky."

So always in the winter evenings, more than all the stars I watch this star in the sword of Orion, remembering that through this "gap in the sky" Jesus will come. That makes it seem nearer, just as if the way home were being pointed out to me. In November you will see this group of stars rising in the southeast about nine o'clock. It rises earlier and earlier as the days go on, until in May you will probably lose sight of it altogether, it sets so soon after the sun has set.

Well, when Joseph Bates heard this vision, he was very happy. He was sure now that the Lord must be giving the visions, for he had been made sure before that Mrs. White knew nothing of astronomy, and here she was telling more than he knew. And he said he was the happiest man alive.

A few weeks after this, while still at Top-sham, Mrs. White was given another vision, in which she saw the sanctuary in heaven in the same form as it had been on earth. In the first room of the sanctuary she saw the altar of incense, the candlestick with seven lamps, and the table of showbread. Then Jesus raised the veil that separated it from the Most Holy Place, and she entered. There she saw an ark of purest gold, over which stood two shining cherubs or angels, their faces turned toward each other, and looking down in reverence upon the ark. Over the ark was a brightness that appeared like the throne of God. Jesus stood there, and as the prayers of His people on earth came up to Him, He offered them up before God, with the incense from His censer.

Then she saw the ark opened, and within it was the law of God, the Ten Commandments written on tables of stone. To her astonishment, as she looked upon these ten great words, she saw the fourth commandment encircled with a greater, more brilliant, light than the others, for it is the great commandment which holds men to God. If everybody had always truly kept the Sabbath, there would never have been a heathen in the world, nor an infidel; for the Sabbath reminds us of the God who is the Creator and Redeemer. God has never changed His command which says, "The seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God; in it thou shalt not do any work." But Satan has brought men to leave the Sabbath and to take a heathen holiday in its place. Thus, without knowing it, many dishonor God.

After she had had this vision, the matter seemed very different to Mrs. White. She had been keeping Sunday, and thought it didn't matter much which day was kept. But now she and James White, her husband, began at once to keep the Sabbath and to study this truth in the Bible. And so they were united with Joseph Bates, and he with them. Thus at last these three servants of God were brought fully together for their great work.

Mrs. Rebecca Smith of West Wilton, New Hampshire, had just received the truth of the Sabbath from Joseph Bates. She had two children, a young man and a young woman, who were both in school away from home, and she was very anxious about them. They had all believed in the coming of Jesus in 1844, but since the disappointment, Uriah and Annie had seemed to be drifting into the world. The mother had been praying for them, and now that she knew the truth of the Sabbath, she was more anxious than ever that they be saved for this work.

"I am going to hold a meeting at Somerville, Massachusetts, in a few days," said Mr. Bates.
Now Annie was in school at Charleston, Mass., two miles from Somerville. "You write to
Annie," said Mr. Bates, "and ask her to attend that meeting at the house of Paul Folsom, and I
will see her. By the Lord's blessing she may receive the truth. Let us both pray, in the meantime, that God will move upon her heart to go."

Annie read her mother's letter. "It's going to be on Saturday," she said to herself, "and there's no school that day. Well, just to please mother, I'll go."

The night before that Sabbath she dreamed a dream. She thought she went to the meeting, but was late, and that when she reached there they were singing the second hymn. Every seat was filled except one next the door, and she sat down in that. A tall, noble-looking, pleasant man was pointing to a queer-looking chart, and saying, "Unto two thousand three hundred days; then shall the sanctuary be cleansed." What he said was very interesting, she dreamed, and she knew it was the truth.

The same night Joseph Bates had a dream. He dreamed he was in the room where the meeting was to be held. He dreamed that he changed his mind about the subject he was to give, and that he spoke on the sanctuary question. After they had sung the first hymn and prayed, and were singing the second hymn, the door opened, and a young lady came in and took the only vacant seat, by the door. It was Annie R. Smith, he dreamed, and she became interested at once and accepted the faith.

So they both awoke that Sabbath morning, and they both forgot all about their dreams. Annie made ready to go to the meeting in plenty of time, but in Somerville she missed her way, and by the time she found Mr. Folsom's house, it was late. As she went in, they were singing the second hymn, and she took the only seat left, right by the door. Joseph Bates stood up and pointed to the chart, quoting, "Unto two thousand and three hundred days; then shall the sanctuary be cleansed." Instantly Annie's dream flashed into her mind. At the same time Mr. Bates saw her, and his dream came back to him. He sent up a prayer for special help. He explained to the people how the disappointment came about, because the sanctuary is in heaven, not on this earth, and then he showed how the third message must be given, and brought forward the truth of the Sabbath.

After the meeting closed, he stepped up to Annie and said, with a welcoming smile, "I believe this is Sister Smith's daughter, of West Wilton. I never saw you before, but your face looks familiar. I dreamed of seeing you last night."

"Why," said Annie, "I dreamed of seeing you. I dreamed of being in this meeting, and everything has happened just as I dreamed it. And," she added, with a little hesitation, "I dreamed it was the truth; and now I know it is the truth."

They had a good, glad visit, and when Annie went away, she had made up her mind to keep the Sabbath and give up her other plans. She and her brother had been offered a place to teach at one thousand dollars a year and their board, but now she gave that up. Going back to her school in Charleston, she packed her trunk and went home to her mother, not to stay there in idleness, but, as you will see, to enter very soon a great work.

Her brother Uriah did not receive the message then. But the next year, in September, there was a conference near his home, and impressed by Annie's conversion, he went to attend it. On his return home, he carefully studied what he had heard, and in December he began to keep the Sabbath.

His sister Annie had gone over a year before to help James White in the publishing of his paper, and the next spring Uriah also went to Rochester, New York, where the Advent Review and Sabbath Herald was being published, and began to work for it.

They did not receive much, only their board and clothing, which cost little. And this they did gladly for the sake of the truth, instead of getting one thousand dollars and their board, as they might have by teaching in the school.

Uriah Smith soon began to write, and for fifty years he was editor of the Review and Herald, still being hard at work for the paper and the cause at the time he died, in 1903. God has greatly blessed his early sacrifice and his devotion, and many, many thousands have been converted by the work he has done. He has written some of our most important books. Probably the one you know best is the work, "Thoughts on Daniel and the Revelation," which explains the prophecies of these wonderful books of the Bible.

Annie Smith did not live so long as her brother. She died in 1855, scarcely three years after she had come to work in the office. But while she lived, she was a great blessing and help, and her work has lived after her. Some of our most beautiful hymns were written by her. I hope you will watch for her name, and come to know many of her hymns. One song she wrote, No. 371 in the "Church Hymnal," tells the story of three of the pioneers in our work. The first stanza relates to Joseph Bates:

"I saw one weary, sad, and torn,

With eager steps press on the way."

The second stanza is about James White:

"And one I saw, with sword and shield,

Who boldly braved the world's cold frown."

And the third one is of John N. Andrews:

"And there was one who left behind

The cherished friends of early years,

And honor, pleasure, wealth resigned,

To tread the path bedewed with tears.

Through trials deep and conflicts sore,

Yet still a smile of joy he wore:

I asked what buoyed his spirits up,

'O this!' said he, 'the blessed hope.'"

It was a plain room, unadorned with pictures, and without a carpet. A number of old chairs, no two alike, were all that could be called furniture. Two flour barrels stood a little distance apart, and upon them was laid a board. This was the table used for the daily meals, and for folding and mailing papers. Such was the appearance in the first days of the publishing work in Rochester, N. Y. As you know, Joseph Bates had before this gotten out a pamphlet about the Sabbath, and James White had from 1849 to 1851 published a paper in Middletown, Conn., Oswego, N. Y., Paris, Maine, and Saratoga Springs, N. Y. It was called Present Truth at first, but in Maine the name was changed to The Second Advent Review and Sabbath Herald, and in Saratoga Springs the word "Second" was dropped. So when they moved to Rochester, in 1852, the name of the paper was what it has ever since remained, The Advent Review and Sabbath Herald, or, for short, The Review and Herald.

In Rochester an old house had been rented by Mr. White for $175 a year, and this was one of the rooms. In this house he and his family and their helpers lived, while they struggled to prepare the truth in tracts and pamphlets and in the new paper, The Advent Review and Sabbath Herald. They were too poor to buy good furniture. They had bought old bedsteads for twenty-five cents apiece, and ten old chairs, four of which had no seats.

The family could not afford high-priced food. Butter was too dear to be bought, and so were potatoes. They ate turnips in their place.

But the printing press and the type and the paper stock, these belonged to the cause. For two years before, Mr. White had published the paper, first in Paris, Maine, and then in Saratoga, N. Y., but he had to hire the work done. Now Hiram Edson sold his farm and loaned the money to buy the needed things for the publishing work. It was only a little printing press, run by hand, there were only a few fonts of type, and the stock of paper was not great. But they were able to publish the paper twice a month, and they made tracts and pamphlets and small books.

Nowadays when books are printed, they come from great presses that print sixty-four pages at a time; the sheets are folded by machinery, then the folded sheets, called signatures, are gathered together, and another machine sews them, and still another trims the edges off smooth. But at first they had none of these machines in that office. To get out the first pamphlet, they made a "bee" of sisters in Rochester, who with the few office hands folded the sheets, then gathered the signatures together, and John Loughborough stabbed holes in them with a pegging awl for the needle to pass through. Then, after they had been sewed by hand, Uriah Smith trimmed the edges with a straight-edge and a sharp penknife. Later they bought some machines to do the work.

And when the papers and the little books were to be sent out, they all gathered around the table and prayed with tears that God would bless them so that they might take the truth. And God did, so that hundreds began to keep the Sabbath, in New England and New York and Michigan and other western states. Brother Bates had made a trip into Michigan to preach, and he began to work at the city of Jackson.

The people who worked in the office, most of them, received only their board and a little more, just enough to clothe them. Only in this way could the work be kept up when they were so poor, for at that time they did not charge a price for the paper, but sent it out free, and only asked those who could to send in money.

Mr. White, Mrs. White, and Father Bates did most of the writing for the paper, though one by one others began to come in to help. There were Uriah Smith and J. N. Andrews, and J. N. Loughborough and J. H. Waggoner, and others more and more.

But upon James White fell the heaviest part of the work of writing for the paper. One time he and Mrs. White started together from Rochester to go to Maine, having meetings all along the way. They went with a horse and a buggy. Little Edson was very sick just before they left. The cholera was killing hundreds of people. All night long, for weeks, they had heard the rumble of the hearses and carriages that were taking the dead to Mount Hope Cemetery. And now little Edson was attacked. But they prayed for him, and the Lord raised him up. Still he was very weak, but they would not stay for that, since the Lord had bidden them go. Putting their little boy on a pillow, they carried him with them, driving twenty miles the first day. The little fellow could not sleep, and his mother sat up rocking him all the night, though they must make a hard journey the next day. Satan was trying to turn them back by making their little boy sick, but they believed God had heard their prayers and they would not return.

The next day Mrs. White, being so worn out that she was afraid she would drop the child, put him in her lap and tied him to her waist, and they both slept most of the way, while Mr. White drove. Thus day after day they traveled. They would stop at places along the way, letting the horse eat by the roadside while they ate their own lunch. Then Mr. White would take out paper and pencil, and on the top of his hat or the top of the lunch-box he would write his articles for The Review and Herald, and send them back to Rochester to Uriah Smith, who would make up the paper. Thus, while traveling and working very hard, did the pioneers in the cause keep up the work of publishing, that the message might go much farther and faster than they could carry it themselves.

Joseph Bates in 1849 made a visit to Michigan. There were no Sabbath-keepers in Michigan then. Stopping at Jackson, in the south-central part of the state, he visited among the people, and soon interested quite a good many in the truths he taught. This company at Jackson made the first church in the West. They were very happy in their new faith, and worked hard to give a knowledge of it to others, so only a few years had passed before the cause in Michigan began to grow strong. And these brethren helped in paying expenses at the office, and in sup-porting men to go out preaching the message at that time when there was the greatest need.

In 1853 Mr. and Mrs. White made a visit to Michigan, and held meetings in many places. The country was new then, and had a great many swamps in it. The roads had often to go through these swamps, and to make the road firm the road builders used to lay logs crosswise on it close together. Over these they would pile earth and muck from the swamp. This was called a corduroy road. But in wet weather much of this earth would be carried away or be washed down between the logs, so that it would leave great bumps and hollows. And sometimes a poor log would rot out, and leave a bigger hole than ever. The people called these holes "thank-you-ma’ams." That was a cheerful way of meeting them; for when, riding over the broken corduroy road in a wagon, they would go bump, bump, bumpity-bump, and away down ker-plunk, until their bones cracked and their teeth snapped, then instead of scolding and complaining, they would screw their faces into wry smiles, and murmur pleasantly, "Thank you, ma'am," as though the road had done them a favor.

Over such roads Mr. and Mrs. White went through many parts of the state. There was just one railroad through the state at this time, and that the people called "the huckleberry road," because they said the conductor would stop the train whenever it went through a huckleberry swamp, and let the passengers off to eat berries. That was only their way of telling how slow and irregular the trains were.

But however poor the country was, the people had good hearts, and the truth found many friends who would hold it up. Most of the traveling through the state had to be done by wagon; and over the roads, many parts of them corduroy, Mr. and Mrs. White drove in their weakness (for Mr. White at this time was not strong), and they held many meetings, so the cause grew greatly.

In 1855 the friends in Michigan agreed together to ask Brother White to move the publishing work to Michigan. Four men, Dan Palmer, Cyrenius Smith, J. P. Kellogg, and Henry Lyons, made up $1200, bought a lot in the little city of Battle Creek, fifty miles west of Jackson, and built a small two-story house, twenty feet wide and thirty feet long. This was the beginning of the work in Battle Creek, which afterwards grew so large.

Here, then, in the fall, Mr. White moved the printing office, and from this time on the work grew rapidly. They soon bought a large press, to be run by steam, and other machinery. The books and papers and tracts began to multiply and spread the truth.

The few Seventh-day Adventists then living there sacrificed a great deal in order to help the cause. There was one man, a fanner, who made up his mind to help when a printing press was called for. But he had no money to spare, so he sold his yoke of oxen, Buck and Bill, and gave the money to the publishing house for the buying of the press. It made him happy to do it; for in this way, he said, his oxen were helping pull the chariot of truth along. And every time he passed the Review and Herald office and heard the press running, he would stop to chuckle, and say, "Buck and Bill are pullin' away, they're pu-uullin' away!"

And all the work was done by sacrifice. Many who wrote did it for no pay at all, some of them working with their hands part of the time at farming or carpentry or something else to pay their expenses.

One of the ministers tells how he worked with his tent in Illinois for three winter months. He got his board, a ten-dollar buffalo overcoat, and ten dollars in money. Then he walked part way home, a good many miles, in order to have a little of the money left. And he says, "My case was not an exception: other ministers fared equally well, and we were all happy in the Lord's work."

From this time on for over fifty years, the headquarters of the work were in Battle Creek, Mich. Many people came into the faith in the western states, Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa, and beyond; and so for many years the West more than the East saw the rapid development of the work.

One of the early converts who became a power in the work, was John N. Loughborough. He had been in the '44 movement, and when scarcely seventeen, he preached the doctrine.

At that time, he was sick with fever and ague, but he felt impressed that he must preach. And as soon as he had made up his mind to do it, the chills left him. He had no money left, how-ever, and very little clothing. How could he go out to preach? Well, a neighbor offered to let him saw wood, as much as he could in his weakness; and doing this, he saved one dollar. The same neighbor, a big six-footer, was so kind as to give him a vest and a pair of trousers. But John Loughborough had a small body, and he found the trousers seven inches too long! Seven inches were cut off, but still the trousers made no very nice fit. On they went, however, and the big vest as well. His brother gave him a double-breasted overcoat which had been cut short, and this did for a coat. Thus fitted out, young John Loughborough started out to preach, going thirty miles away from home to start in.

The first house he stopped at was that of a family interested in the prophecies. They welcomed him, and bade him take off his over-coat. Blushing and stammering, he had to explain that it was not his overcoat, but his coat. If his friends thought he looked rather odd, what would the scoffers say when, in the pulpit, he stood up to preach, wearing his double-breasted short overcoat and his big baggy trousers?

However, he would not back out, and on the evening after New Year he opened meetings in the Baptist church. The people crowded in to hear him, and he was able to tell the truth with power. The second evening he preached to a still larger congregation. The next day he was invited to visit a family, and when he reached there, he found a good many people present. Very soon a minister came in, and looking the young preacher over condescendingly, he said:

"You had a large attendance last night?"

"Yes," said Mr. Loughborough, "and they seemed much interested."

"I don't know," returned the minister, "I guess they had a curiosity to hear a boy preach. Did I understand you to say that the soul is not immortal?"

"I said so," answered the boy.

This was a new truth to the Adventists, a truth which George Storrs had brought out. Not all of the Adventists took it for truth, but John Loughborough had read Storrs' pamphlet, and he believed it.

"Well," said the minister, "what do you do with the text that says, ' These shall go away into everlasting punishment, the death that never dies'?"

"Sir," said the boy preacher, "one half of your text is in the hymnbook instead of the Bible. The expression, 'death that never dies,' is not in the Bible. In Matthew 25:46 we read of everlasting punishment, but that is made plain by reading 2 Thessalonians 1:9, where it is called everlasting destruction."

"Yes," said the minister, "I understand that, but there is a text that reads as I said, and it is in the twenty-fifth chapter of Revelation."

"My good sir," returned Mr. Loughborough, "there are only twenty-two chapters in Revelation. Your text must be three chapters outside the Bible!"

The minister drew up to his full height, and he looked very high indeed beside "the boy." "I tell you it is in the twenty-fifth chapter of Revelation," he thundered. "Let me take your Bible, and I'll show you."

He took the Bible, and began turning over the leaves of the Old Testament. "Where is Revelation?" he said at last.

John Loughborough took the Bible and turned to the last, the twenty-second chapter of Revelation. The minister looked at it for a moment, and then said, "Yes, I see. I should like to talk with you, but I have an engagement," and he hastily left the room. He had told the people there that he would show the boy preacher in two minutes where he was wrong. But though he had read many books, he had not read his Bible enough.

When Mr. and Mrs. White came to Rochester, in 1852, John Loughborough heard the Sabbath message, and accepted it. Soon after, he began to preach that message, and through hardships about as great as those of his early experience, he helped to carry on the work.

At about the same time (185I), another man, away in the West, received the faith. His name was J. H. Waggoner. He too was one of those who did great service for Jesus in the advent message before he died. He wrote some powerful tracts and books that have helped many people into the light. But to show you how the ministers then often worked without much support, you want to see him one day in Michigan, as he comes into a believer's house, his boots worn out, his coat threadbare, and his trousers frayed and worn: Pot he was preaching without pay, and his own money was now gone.

Another minister, named Hutchins, also happened to be at the home of this man, who was a farmer. Mr. Waggoner, tired out, had gone in to lie on the bed.

Said the farmer in a low voice to Mr. Hutchins, "It's too bad for Brother Waggoner to go dressed like that."

"Well," answered Mr. Hutchins, "I have no doubt he would be better dressed if he had any money."

"Well, I'm sorry for him," sighed the brother.

"How sorry?" asked Mr. Hutchins. "Are you sorry enough to sell some of your wheat or oats to help him?"

"I don't know," said the man, shaking his head. "Wheat is only sixty-five cents a bushel, and it ought never to be sold for that. Oats is only thirty-five cents. I don't want to sell any at that price; it would be too much of a sacrifice."

"Brother," said Mr. Hutchins, "don't you think that in those days when the Lord told the people to take a lamb of the first year and burn it up, they thought it was too bad, and that they would rather keep it a year or two, and get a fleece from it before making an offering of it?"

The brother shook his head again. "I do feel sorry for Elder Waggoner, but I don't see how I can sell any of my grain to help him."

"How much would you let him have if you had the money?"

"Oh, I'd let him have seven or eight dollars."

"I'll let you have the money to give him," said Mr. Hutchins, "as I happen to have a little on hand; and when I need it, I'll ask you for it."

So the brother took the money and gave it to Mr. Waggoner, and of course it helped a little.

Do you suppose Mr. Waggoner did more than eight dollars' worth of good to that man? I'm afraid the man didn't get eight dollars' worth of good out of his gift; for it cost him no sacrifice. David said that he would not offer to God that which cost him nothing. The people were indebted to Mr. Waggoner, and such ministers as he, thousands of times more than they could ever pay. At the same time, all the good such ministers did for the people, they did only to pay a debt; for they, as you and I, were debtors to Christ.

Listen: when Jesus gives us eternal life, and the wonderful bliss of heaven and the new earth, He gives them as a gift, not as pay. He died in our place, and with all we can do we can never pay that debt. So people whom we may help don't owe us anything; but they owe Christ, for whom we are working, and when they give money or anything else, they must give it to Christ, who is our Master.

I am sure Mr. Waggoner realized this; and with the other ministers he endured his hard-ships cheerfully, saying "My Master, Jesus, had not where to lay His head."

Early in the history of Seventh-day Adventists God began to teach the people how to live healthfully, so that they might be able to do His work well. Mrs. White gave much instruction on the matter, and taught the right way of living and the natural means of healing. Joseph Bates was one of the first to practice what we know as "health reform." When he died, a hale, hearty old man of seventy-six, he had been keeping his health perfectly for many years on a diet of fruits, grains, nuts, and vegetables.

But diet, or what we eat, is not all there is to health reform. If we live right, God promises to keep us from disease, and if any are sick, He says His power is set in the church to heal them. But at the same time He wants us to know and to use all natural ways of making sick people well.

Let me tell you how this part of the truth came to one family, and that will show you how it came to many.

There was mourning in the home of Horace Lawrence, the elder of the church at Bangor, N. Y. Mrs. Lawrence was very, very sick, and the brethren and sisters from all the neighboring towns in Franklin County who came to see her (for she had visited them many times, and some of them had learned the message through her work) were told she was too sick to see them.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," exclaimed one rosy-cheeked farmer's wife, standing in the Lawrence kitchen with her hand on a basket of fresh eggs she had brought. "I've driven away over from Brandon to see her. I do hope the Lord will have mercy on dear Sister Lawrence. Can she eat anything?"

"No," answered Mr. Lawrence, "the doctor has us give her a little glass of wine every two hours, and that is all she can take to keep her alive."

"Can't you pray for her?" asked the sister.

Mr. Lawrence looked at her reproachfully. "I do pray for her," he said, "every minute I live."

"But I mean, can't the elders pray for her, as the Apostle James directs?"

"If there were only godly men of experience living near here," said Mr. Lawrence. "But you know we are few. She prayed in a whisper herself all last night, for the Lord to send someone."

And as he spoke, there was the sound of wheels on the road outside, and a buggy with two men in it drove up and stopped.

They all went to the door, and the two men, having hitched their horse, came up the walk.
"Brother Haskell, of Norfolk!" joyfully exclaimed Mr. Lawrence, holding out his hand.

"Yes, it's Brother Haskell," responded the big, white-bearded man. "I and my brother
here have felt impressed by the Lord to drive over these thirty miles to see you. I left my wheat standing ready to be harvested, and the neighbors said I was crazy. And now there must be something needed."

"Indeed there is," answered Mr. Lawrence. "The Lord sent you in answer to prayer. My wife is very low. Will you come in and pray for her?"

They went into the sickroom, but Mrs. Lawrence lay still and deathlike; she could not hear them. They knelt, and first they prayed God to give her strength to hear prayer. And as they prayed, a faint color came to her cheeks, her eyes became bright, and she spoke to them. God had answered. Then they prayed again, fervently, that God would raise her up to health. And rising, Brother Haskell took the sacred oil and poured a little upon her forehead; then laying his hand on her head, he said, "Sister Lawrence, the Lord our God has heard. You shall recover."

And in a moment her strength began to come back to her. She ate food, and in a few days she was able to be up again. Oh, what a happy family when the dear mother was able to be with them again! And what a happy people were they who knew and loved Sister Lawrence as a mother in Israel! And how the neighbors wondered, saying, "What doctor could do that?"

Not long after, there came to them the news that the Spirit of prophecy had spoken in regard to how we should live.

"Horace," said Mrs. Lawrence, "the Lord raised me up from death, and I am going to obey that message in regard to dress. I shall have to make over most of my clothes, but I shall see that I am dressed equally warm all over, in winter. And as for those ridiculous hoops, I am thankful the Lord has spoken against them, for I think they are shameful."

And again, one morning at breakfast table, a very few weeks later, they were discussing some new directions about health.

"I am glad," said Mr. Lawrence, "for the cleaning up that has come among our people. Strong drink, even cider, never belonged among us; and now tobacco has gone, and tea and coffee. And we are not merely dropping off things; we are putting better food in their place. But I don't know whether we can get any graham flour or not."

"What is this 'graham' flour?" asked his wife.

"Why, Maria, it's just about the same as we used to grind at the water mill, as nearly as I can make out," he answered, "only this man Graham has got his name attached to it. But you see it isn't popular, for the white flour is what folks eat now, and they think it's a sign of wealth. But if I can't buy it, I can get it ground, I suppose, and keep it unbolted, with the bran in. The fine flour has a great deal of the goodness bolted out."

"And pork, father," put in their daughter Ellen. "What are we going to do with our fat hogs, since the Bible says pork isn't fit to eat? Of course, that will not trouble you," she added, for he never ate meat, as the rest of them did.

"We'll have to come up on father's ground, Ellen," said her mother. "As to the hogs, we will certainly not eat them."

"No," said Mr. Lawrence, "and when you come to think of it, it does seem a great waste to put corn into a hog so as to eat it by-and-by. It's better to take it at first hand."

Again, a year or so later, there came the message to their home that a health institute, what we now call a sanitarium, should be built up, a place where the principles of right living could be taught, and where the sick could be cared for by water treatments, and be made well.

"Now that's the right move," declared Mrs. Lawrence. "I've proved the treatments as well as I could give them, you know I have, Horace, and they have helped more than once, when the neighbors' children were sick. And we have better health because of living in the new way. And it's surely the right thing to establish a health institute, where the sick can get well, and be taught the truth at the same time."

"Yes, it is," he assented, "and we'll have to help what we can to build it up. You see they call for our people to give money for buying a place there in Battle Creek. Yes, yes, Maria, we'll have to help."

And from these little beginnings, all through the ranks the work spread, until ministers and people were very largely practicing and teaching the truth of health reform. Some,—too bad to say it,—did not care enough for it to pay much heed. And it is sad to have to say that many, many, now when the knowledge of how to live healthfully is so much greater than then, seem to care very little for it in their lives. But this is sure, that those who go through to the end will, by being careful how they live, keep their bodies fit for the greatest service of God, so that their health may praise God and make them more able to work for Him.

Today we have many great sanitariums, besides treatment rooms and health restaurants in many cities, and there are many visiting nurses and other health workers all over the land. Still, our great buildings and the great work being done by some are not what count. What counts is whether you and I each make our bodies living temples, holy for the indwelling of God. That is the meaning and the use of health reform.

How many times have you been to camp meeting? We have had them now for over seventy years. You remember what I told you of the camp meetings they had before 1844. And you know our camp meetings today are a great deal different from them. We have the big tents for the meetings, instead of holding them out-of-doors, and there are neat rows of family tents lining the camp streets. At night the camp is lighted by electricity. But the camp meetings did not begin with such comforts. Would you like to hear of the first camp meeting held among Seventh-day Adventists?

It was in the year 1868, and the camp was pitched in a "sugar bush "—a maple grove—in
the township of Wright, Michigan. There were two large tents, though we might not think them
large now. One held the baggage and straw of the campers; the other was used for meetings in
stormy weather, and for other special meetings. The place for the general meeting was in a central spot in the "bush." There was a-platform built up for the ministers, and seats for the people were of rough boards. The family tents were pitched in a circle around the central meeting-place. They were made, not of heavy canvas, such as we have now, but of sheeting or drilling. There was just one tent like what we use now, and it had been shipped in from New York. One night there was a heavy thunder-shower. Did you ever try to keep dry under a sheet out in the rain? That's what those campers had to try. Right away the tents began to leak. There was no getting out of the wet and into a dry corner; they just had to take their wetting. When morning came and the sun shone out bright, the stumps and fences were covered with bedding and clothing to dry. But when the people looked into the all-canvas tent which had been brought from New York, they saw that there was dry ground; that tent had not leaked, and its people had kept dry.

"Next year," said one, "I'll have a canvas tent too."

"And so will I," said another.

That was the lesson that brought the canvas tents into use.

It was a beautiful grove where they were encamped, and especially so at night. Look up through the dark treetops into the deep black-blue. See the stars shining down through the little holes in the leafy roof. Farther away it makes them seem, somehow. And those faraway little lights are suns, some of them, as big as our sun, or bigger, and though they give but little light to us down here, there are around them great worlds like ours on which they shine more brightly than our sun. And God is beyond them, the great God who made them all, and who calls all by name.

But the stars were not the only light they had for the camp. They had no electric lights, as we have now, but they made some lights that did very well. Driving four stakes into the ground, close together, they built a shallow box on top and filled it with earth. On this they built fires that, blazing high, cheerfully scattered the darkness and gave light a long way. Half a dozen of these fires around the central meeting-place were enough to light the camp.

Outside the camp, too, were great log fires burning; for these September nights were cool.
And to these fires came the chilly people to get warm enough to go back and hear the sermon. After the evening meeting was over, and all had gone to their tents to sleep, around the whole encampment there walked a tall, brown-bearded, spectacled man, and before each tent he would stop and ask in his pleasant voice, "Are you all comfortable for the night?" And if any one wanted anything, the tall man was sure to see he got it. He was one of the principal speakers at the meeting, with Mr. and Mrs. White, but he found time, too, to look after the comfort of everyone. His name was John N. Andrews.

There were only seventeen of the smaller tents, but some of these were divided so as to accommodate a whole church, in the following way. Two-foot boards were placed upright the long way of the tent, so as to leave an aisle in the middle. Between each board and the wall of the tent the space was filled with straw. Each side was then curtained off, and on one side the women slept, and on the other side the men. The poles in the center aisle also supported a board, which by means of pegs in the poles was placed low enough for a table at mealtime and high enough to make a shelf out of the way the rest of the time. Besides those who lived in these tents, many had rooms in near-by houses, and some slept in their wagons. So there were several hundred present.

There was the greatest order at this first camp meeting. After a certain hour no talking was allowed, so that all might sleep. That is something we all need to remember at camp meetings now. And God blessed them. While camp meetings of other people before this time had often been disorderly and had a bad influence, this one was very quiet and well conducted. Many, both of older ones and of children, were brought to Jesus; men who had had trouble with each other were brought together in love; and Christian ties were made stronger.

Everyone who came and listened to the stir-ring truths from God's servants, and joined with one another in telling of their experiences in the message, declared it was so good a time and so helpful a gathering that they must have another the next year. And they did have, and the next year, and the next, and right along. And our other conferences took it up, so that now camp meetings are held nearly everywhere.

Most of us have a good chance to attend camp meeting, and can have a blessed time if we go to find the Lord; for we shall always find Him there, if we seek Him with true hearts. And it is right, too, to rejoice in meeting our friends whom perhaps we cannot see at any other time. I re-member that some of my best friends were made at camp meeting. Were yours?

And the camp meeting may remind us, especially if we go by horse or automobile, of the times we shall have in the new earth, going through the country every Sabbath day and once a month besides, up to the great meeting-place at the New Jerusalem.

Where is your next camp meeting to be held?

A poor, ragged beggar was passing from door to door in the city of Basle, Switzerland. Some. thing to eat, something to eat, a few centimes to go for a pair of shoes, this was all he seemed to be thinking about; and many a respectable housewife turned him away from her door. What was a beggar—faugh!—to bother about? Besides, it was Saturday, and baking-day; tomorrow was Sunday, and any good Christian woman would be working with might and main to have things in order. Of course, now, if one were a Jew, he might have time on this Saturday to listen to a beggar's whine; and yet that would not be likely for a Jew.

The beggar began even to wish that he might meet a Jew. He stopped before a humble house on a side street, went up the steps, and knocked. The lady who opened the door said kindly, "Come in," and the beggar stepped inside. There in a circle sat a company of people about a tall, brown-bearded, spectacled man, all of them with Bibles in their hands. The beggar almost forgot his need of a few centimes for a pair of shoes. Surely he had found a family of Jews; for was not this a Saturday? And were they not studying the Bible?

Whether he asked for something to eat, really I do not know. I suspect he was actually not very hungry, nor so very much in need of a few centimes. At any rate, he had gained an interest outside his profession; for we see him seated, listening to the reading and talking of these people with Bibles. He hears them studying about the soon coming of Christ. "Surely," says he to himself, "these are not Jews. But why are they studying on Saturday? Perhaps they are monks, who do nothing every day but read the Bible. No, no; monks are much more given to eating and drinking or playing dice than to reading the Bible together."

The beggar's mind traveled back over his tramps, back along the Rhine, through Strasburg, Heidelburg, Mainz, Dusseldorf, Elberfeld, —yes, yes, at Elberfeld there were a people who were not Jews who kept Sabbath just like the Jews.

When the Sabbath-school lesson was finished, the beggar began to ask questions. Then they were not Jews, but Christians? Yes. But they kept the seventh day? Yes; for that was what God commands all Christians to do.

"Well," said he, "I never saw anybody like you but once before, and I'm a great traveler. I have been all over Baden and Hesse and Prussia, and even up to Hamburg."

"Did you say you have found other people in Germany who are Christians and who keep the seventh day?" asked Mr. Andrews.

"Yes, once," answered the beggar, "up in Elberfeld. They are kind people. There are not very many of them. I don't know how many. But yes, it's at Elberfeld."

"Do you know any of their names?"

"Why, no. They have a pastor. I meet so many people, though. Let me