"With that brother, the writer was once climbing the Cima di Jazzi, one of the mountains in the chain of Monte Rosa. When nearly at the top, they entered a dense fog. Presently, the guides faced right about, and grounded their axes on the frozen snow-slope. The brother--seeing the slope still beyond, and not knowing it was merely the cornice, overhanging a precipice of several thousand feet--rushed onward. The writer will never forget their cry of agonized warning. His brother stood a moment on the very summit, and then, the snow yielding, began to fall through. One of the guides, at great risk, rushed after him and seized him by the coat. This tore away, leaving only three inches of cloth, by which he was dragged back. It seemed impossible to be nearer death, and yet escape. On his return home, an invalid member of his congregation told him that she had been much in prayer for his safety, and mentioned a special time when she particularly was earnest, as if imploring deliverance from some great peril. The times corresponded! Was not that prayer instrumental in preserving that life?"
Bishop Simpson's Recovery.
Bishop Bowman gives the following instance from his own experience:
"In the Fall of 1858, whilst visiting Indiana, I was at an annual conference where Bishop Janes presided. We received a telegram that Bishop Simpson was dying. Said Bishop Janes, 'Let us spend a few moment's in earnest prayer for the recovery of Bishop Simpson.' We kneeled to pray. William Taylor, the great California street preacher, was called to pray, and such a prayer I never heard since. The impression seized upon me irresistibly, Bishop Simpson will not die. I rose from my knees perfectly quiet. Said I, 'Bishop Simpson will not die.' 'Why do you think so?' Because I have had an irresistible impression made upon my mind during this prayer.' Another said, 'I have the same impression.' We passed it along from bench to bench, until we found that a very large proportion of the conference had the same impression. I made a minute of the time of day, and when I next saw Simpson, he was attending to his daily labor. I inquired of the Bishop, 'How did you recover from your sickness?' He replied, 'I cannot tell.' 'What did your physician say?' 'He said it was a miracle.' I then said to the Bishop, 'Give me the time and circumstances under which the change occurred.' He fixed upon the day, and the very hour, making allowance for the distance--a thousand miles away--that the preachers were engaged in prayer at this conference. The physician left his room and said to his wife, 'It is useless to do anything further; the Bishop must die.' In about an hour, he returned and started back, inquiring, 'What have you done?' 'Nothing,' was the reply. 'He is recovering rapidly,' said the physician; 'a change has occurred in the disease within the last hour beyond anything I have ever seen; the crisis is past, and the Bishop will recover.' And he did."
The doctor was puzzled; it was beyond all the course and probabilities of nature and the laws of science. What was it that made those ministers so sure--what was it that made the patient recover, at the exact hour that they prayed? There is only one answer, "The ever living Power of a Superior Spirit which rules the world."
The Seven Letters.
The following incident is given by "The Presbyterian," on the authority of a private letter from Paris:
"At a Bible reunion, held at the house of an English Congregationalist minister, where several colporteurs, teachers and others meet for devotional reading and conversation, a brief anecdote was related by a clergyman living in La Force, who established there an institution for epileptics, where he has now three hundred, supported entirely on the principle of faith, like Muller's orphanage.
"At one time, he found himself in debt to the amount of five hundred pounds. After a sleepless, anxious night, he found, on his table, seven letters. Opening five, he found them to be all applications, some of them most painful in their details, for the admission of new inmates. His excited mind could not bear it. Without opening the other two letters he threw them to his wife. 'Put them into the fire,' he said, and turned to seek relief in the open air. 'John,' said a sweet voice, 'this won't do. Come back.' So he did, taking up the sixth letter, which proved to be from a stranger, enclosing a check for three hundred pounds. The other envelope gave him just what was needed, just that and no more. He thanked God, and took courage. Will he ever again hear the sweet, sad voice, 'Wherefore didst thou doubt?'"