Earlier text: A WONDERFUL DISCOVERYA WOMAN stood at the bar of justice and by her side two stalwart policemen. Her name was called, and she answered. Then the judge asked the clerk to read the charge against her. "Disorderly conduct on the street and disturbing the peace," read the clerk. "Who are the witnesses against the woman?" asked the judge; and the two policemen stepped forward to be sworn. "Now, tell the story," said the judge; and one of them began. "I arrested the woman in front of a saloon on Broadway on Saturday night. She had raised a great disturbance, was fighting and brawling with the men in the saloon, and the saloon keeper put her out. She used the foulest language, and with an awful threat struck at the keeper with all her force. I then arrested her and took her to the detention house and locked her up." "The next witness will take the stand," said the judge; and the other policeman stepped up. "I saw the arrest, and know it to be just as stated. I saw the woman fighting as the saloon keeper put her out on the street. I heard the vile language she used in the presence of the crowd that gathered in the street." "Call the saloon keeper. What do you know of this case?" "I know dis voman vas makin' disturbance by my saloon. She comes und she makes trobles and she fights mit me, and I puts her the door oud. I know her all along. She vas pad vomans." Turning to the trembling woman, the judge said:— "This is a pretty clear case, madam; have you anything to say in your defense?" "Yes, judge," she answered in a strangely calm though trembling voice. "I am not guilty of the charge, and these men standing before you have perjured their souls to prevent me from telling the truth. It was they, and not I, who violated the law. I was in the saloon last Saturday night, but I'll tell you how it happened. "My husband did not come home from work that evening, and I feared he had gone to the saloon. I knew he must have drawn his week's wages, and we needed it all so badly. I put the little ones to bed, and then waited all alone through the weary hours until after the city clock struck twelve. Then, I thought, the saloons will be closed, and he will be put out on the streets. Probably he will not be able to get home, and the police will arrest him and lock him up. I must go and find him and bring him home. I wrapped a shawl around me and started out, leaving the little ones asleep in bed, and, judge, I have not seen them since." Here the tears came to her eyes and she almost broke down, but, restraining herself, she went on:— "I went to the saloon where I thought most likely he would be. It was about twenty minutes after twelve, but the saloon, that man's saloon"—pointing to the saloon keeper, who seemed to want to crouch out of her sight—"was still open, and my husband and these two policemen"—pointing to those who had so lately sworn against her—"were standing at the bar with their lips still wet with drink, and the flecks of foam not yet settled in the empty glasses before them. I stepped up to my husband and asked him to go home with me, but the men laughed at him, and the saloon keeper ordered me out. I said, 'No, I want my husband to go with me.' Then I tried to tell him how badly we needed the money he was spending, and again the keeper cursed me and ordered me to leave. Then I confess I could stand no more, and I said, 'You ought to be prosecuted for violating the midnight closing law.' "At this the saloon keeper and policemen rushed upon me and put me out into the street, and one of the policemen, grasping my arm like a vise, hissed in my ear, 'I'll get you a thirty days' sentence in the workhouse, and then see what you think about suing people.' He called a patrol wagon, pushed me in, and drove to the house of detention, and, judge, you know the rest. All day yesterday I was locked up, my children at home alone, with no fire, no food, no mother." It was well the story was finished, for a great sob choked her utterance, and she could say no more. "Dismissed," said the judge in a husky voice, and the guilty woman who had so disturbed the peace passed out of the court room. But what of the saloon keeper who violated the law by keeping open after twelve o'clock at night? And what of the policemen who violated their obligation by drinking while on duty, and who threatened an honest woman with a sentence in the workhouse if she dared to tell the truth? Oh, nothing at all! They were too guilty to be prosecuted. The facts of this story will be found on record in Judge Ermston's court.—Cincinnati Living Issue. NELLIE'S WATCHWORD.
By Sallie V. DuBois
It was a perfect morning and Nellie Ashby felt a glad thrill of pleasure as she noted it. The graduating class of which she was a member had arranged to hold a reunion in Harriet Cobb's parlors. It had been planned months ago that they should thus meet, and the fact that they had not all been together since the fair June day when they had received their diplomas, marked the event as one of unusual interest. Breakfast seemed to take longer than usual, and papa lingered over his coffee, paper in hand, while Nellie fairly ached to be at her morning task of clearing things away. Then she must hear Willie's lessons, sweep and dust the sitting room, and carry grandma her breakfast. "Why, grandma, not up yet?" questioned Nellie as she set the tea tray down. "No, dear," said grandma, "I've a headache this morning. The sun is shining brightly, isn't it?" she continued cheerfully. "I hope you may have a happy day, Nellie." "But, grandma, I don't think I ought to leave you." "My dear, you must not think of staying at home. All I need is quiet and rest." And though grandma spoke bravely, yet her face told the tale of suffering which Nellie quickly perceived. She sighed softly and set her lips resolutely together. "Duty or pleasure," she said, as she laid her hand on grandma's silver hair. "Since I have chosen the former for my watchword, and am striving to run with patience the race that is set before me, it is no longer a question with me as to what I should do. Grandma, I shall stay at home to-day." "God bless you, my child!" grandma answered. And the aged eyes lingered lovingly on the girlish form, as with quiet footsteps the invalid's room was set in order. "More and more like the dear Christ every day," she murmured, "who pleased not himself, but spent his life in self-sacrificing service for others." Then a sudden thought came to Nellie, that it was the anniversary of grandma's wedding day as well as that of grandpa's death. "How could I have thought of leaving her?" she questioned, as she darkened the room and softly descended the stairs. Through the long hours that followed Nellie was brave and patient. She had sent a brief note to the girls in the early morning.698 "It was duty or pleasure," she wrote, "and I chose the former." Grandma spent a day of suffering, but just at sunset she fell into a restful slumber. Nellie, who had been almost constantly beside her, went out into the garden for a breath of air, and there met Belle Shepherd, one of her former classmates, coming up the path. "My dear Nellie," she said, "what does this mean?" "It was one of grandma's headaches," Nellie answered. "Excuse me, dear, but grandma's headaches did not always influence you in this manner. I believe that you are a Christian, Nellie." Belle clasped her friend's hands closely in her own. "O Nellie, will you show me the way?" Was Nellie sorry that night that she had crowded pleasure out and filled the hours full of duty?—Morning Star. BRAVE HANS.
By Mary B. Sleight
He lived in fair Holland, far famed for its dykes,
The valiant young hero whose story is told
By hearthstone and cradle, in castle and hut—
The boy that saved Holland, alone in the cold. One day it so chanced that he started on foot
A visit to pay for the night to a friend;
And all the long journey it gladdened his heart
To think of the welcome he'd find at the end. With a song on his lips he fared on his way,
Past windmills and bridges, past village and town,
Then through the wide meadows that stretch to the sea,
Walled in by the dyke that holds the sea down; Till, hist! hark! a horror that curdled his blood,
And brought him in fright and dismay to a stop.
Not a boy in Holland but knew what it meant—
That sound of the water, slow falling, drip-drop! For, small as it seemed, should he pass on his way,
And leave there a leakage all night to creep in,
Ere morning brought workmen the break to repair,
On Holland's fair cities the sea would sweep in. And swift came a vision of ruin and wreck—
Of horses and cattle all dead in the stall,
Of beautiful homes borne away by the flood,
Of mother and child lying deaf to love's call. Aghast at the picture, and heedless of self,
He wedged in the crevice his little brown thumb,
Then shouted for help; but the shriek of the waves
Alone came in answer, and smote his heart dumb. Still waiting and watching, he saw the day wane,
With never a thought of deserting his post,
For better to die there, he said to himself,
Than to let into Holland the sea's hungry host. The night gathered darkly, with swift-spreading clouds;
Above the wild marshes there gleamed not a star;
The winds howled about him like wolves after prey,
And wild the sea bellowed beyond the low bar; But through the long hours unflinching he stood,
Though each breath was a prayer for the coming of day;
And while Holland slept, not dreaming of ill,
That brave little hand held the ocean at bay. At morning they found him still guarding the dyke,
All spent with the perils the young heart had braved—
Half fainting with hunger, and chilled to the bone—
But what mattered that since Holland was saved? Men gathered about him in speechless amaze,
Grew pallid with terror, then shouted and wept;
All thought of the battle he'd won for them there,
Alone in the darkness, while other boys slept. In triumph they bore him safe back to his home—
The home he had feared he might never behold—
And all over Holland, in cottage and hall,
With tears and thanksgiving the story was told. "Three cheers and a tiger" for brave little Hans,
Who challenged the sea with his thumb for a spike.
Let us stand by our country whatever betide,
Like Holland's young hero that stood by the dyke. She could swing a six-pound dumb-bell;
She could fence, and she could box;
She could row upon the river;
She could clamber 'mong the rocks;
She could do some heavy bowling,
And play tennis all day long;
But she couldn't help her mother,
'Cause she wasn't very strong.
—Puck. WE all want to do big things, we long for great talents, and instead of using what we have, we stand idly wishing we could preach like Mr. Moody and sing like Sankey, and souls are slipping by us down to hell—
"Lost for want of a word,
'A word that we might have spoken." I heard Mr. Sankey say that when Mr. Moody and he were holding meetings in a certain place, the church was filled, and a great multitude gathered outside. In order that all might hear the singing, the organ was placed on the steps of the church, and Mr. Sankey sang the famous "Ninety and Nine." On a distant hillside a man was sitting on a veranda, out of sorts with his wife and daughter because they had gone to the meeting. He had no interest in such things.
"None of the ransomed ever knew
How deep were the waters crossed,
Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed through,
Ere he found his sheep that was lost." It was an arrow that pierced his soul, that led to his conversion. What a grand thing to sing the gospel, and win souls in that way! But we need not be able to sing like Mr. Sankey to win souls, as the following story will show:— One of the workers at the Rescue Mission sat in the window sewing. She is not a grand singer—in fact, scarcely ever sings in the meetings, but alone by herself she often sings. She was singing:—
"Oh, to have no Christ, no Saviour,
How dark this world must be!" When she had finished, she heard someone calling, and saw two girls looking over a neighboring fence. One said, "Won't you please sing that again?" I am afraid some of us would have begun to make excuses, and say we were not singers, etc.; but this good soul sung it over again, praying God to bless the song, and then went to talk with them. She recognized them as inmates of a place of wickedness, and asked permission to call on them. They would not grant this, but the next day one came to the mission and threw herself into the arms of the singer. "I have been so unhappy," she said, "since I heard you sing. You remind me of my mother, and the days when I was innocent and good. I had a good home, but quarreled with my mother, ran away, and got into a life of sin. I am tired of it. Won't you pray for me?" They had prayer, and the poor, wandering one was led to the Saviour. She said:—
"I'll never go back to that place again. I'm going to the poormaster and ask him to send me home." The worker furnished the money to pay her fare to her home in a neighboring city, and she went away rejoicing. This was some time ago. Last week the girl, accompanied by her father, paid a visit to the mission. She was happy in Christ, and had led eleven souls to him, her father and mother being among the number. Her father was full of praise and thanksgiving to God for what he had done for his erring child and the rest of his family, and tears ran down his cheeks as he thanked the singer for the song, and for the help she had been to his daughter. Her desire is to work among the fallen from whom she had been rescued. What encouragement for weak workers! Let us sing a song to some poor soul, speak a word, give a tract, or visit some sick and dying one, lead someone to Christ. God says in 1 Cor. 2:27, 28 that there are five things he will use, namely, foolish things, weak things, base things, despised things, and things that are not, to bring to naught the things that are. God will take a worm to thrash a mountain. The trouble with us is we want to be some "lord of the forest," and are not willing to be the worm. Put yourself in God's hands to be used, and he will use you. If we use what talents we have, he will give us more. "For whosoever hath, to him shall be given; . . . but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath." We either use or lose.—Christian Herald. A TALL, elderly, refined-looking gentleman went into a small post office in a rural region in England. He asked some questions relative to the registering of a letter, and was very sharply, rudely, and unnecessarily snubbed by a young woman in attendance. He asked her if she thought that was a proper way to answer an inquiry in a public office. She said she thought that she had been quite civil enough for him. He asked her, with an ominously increasing mildness of manner, if she would favor him with her name. She emphatically declined to do so. He then said he thought he would tell her his name, which, however, she declined to hear, saying that his name was no concern of hers. He calmly replied that he thought it was, for he was the Postmaster General.—New York World. "On a bright summer afternoon of last season," says a contributor to Nature's Realm, "while lazily resting on the porch in the warm atmosphere, I observed a fly suddenly stop, flutter, and struggle, apparently in mid air. This was soon explained by a little black and brown spider, a shade larger than the fly, darting down from a beam overhead, perpendicularly above the fly. Reaching the latter, he was but a moment in doing whatever he did to secure his prey, and he then ran nimbly up his single cord, which I found, although it was scarcely perceptible, stretched taut from the beam above to a cross rail of fancy work below. The spider ascended about eighteen inches above the fly, and then quickly turned head downward, taking hold of the line with its foreleg, as a child would a jumping rope, and with a swaying motion the then struggling fly began to be swung around something like a button would be in the center of a string held by both hands and rapidly turned by a circular motion. The speed was so rapid that by the time it had reached a circuit of about four inches in diameter the fly could scarcely be discerned. In about a minute its operation ceased and the fly was quiet. Taking the fly from the web line I found under the magnifying glass that every leg was closely tied together in the same manner as farmers formerly tied the feet of calves together when taking them to market in the bottom of the wagons. Taking a needle I tried to release the legs, but the work of the spider was too well done, and the fly soon expired. Did anyone ever witness such a mode of a spider securing its game?" WIDE TIRES ON FARM WAGONS.
Good Roads for August has a forcible, timely word to farmers on the use of wide tires. After speaking of those sections of country which have as the most available material for road making common dirt, it says:— “But it is absolutely necessary to use wide tires, and what is more, it is profitable to the user in that he can haul double the corn out of the field that he could have hauled with narrow tires, and he can get to town with a very much larger load, even when he is the only user of wide tires over that road; and as soon as the flat-footed wagons become general, it is not necessary to spend one-half the amount in keeping up even a common dirt road. “With proper drainage and wide tires, a long step is taken in the direction of going to town in the spring and fall. Few localities are so low that drainage is not practical, and even in the lowest bottoms a road properly raised, with suitable side ditches and cross tiles, will be in good shape most of the time; but no such road can stand narrow tires. “Get proper highways as soon as possible, but get wide tires now. The meanest road is made better; a fair road is much improved; a soft road is kept smooth; a good road is left so; a hard road is made harder; a smooth road is made smoother; a rough road is leveled; and all roads last longer; larger loads can be hauled; larger bank accounts may be maintained; better profits for the farmer; better prices for the consumer; better nature will prevail; and better citizens are made by the use of WIDE TIRES. “Therefore get wide tires first, and good roads will be easier of attainment.” FOUR kinds of bad examples do us harm: 1. Those we imitate. 2. Those we proudly exult over. 3. Those which drive us into an opposite extreme. 4. Those which lower our standard. A man is always in danger of being satisfied, if he does not excel; and excellence is relative. Whence it comes that bad examples do much greater amount of evil among those who do not follow them. For one who is corrupted by becoming as bad as a bad example, there are ten that are debased by becoming content with being better.—Sel. The philanthropic work of Mr. Nathan Strauss in opening up depots for the sale of sterilized milk at various points in the crowded districts of the city is meeting with all desirable encouragement in the way of public patronage. One of the depots, located in City Hall Park, is besieged all day long by crowds of men, women, and children eager to buy the refreshing and healthful drink. It frequently happens that from fifty to one hundred persons are in the line waiting their turn at the point where the milk is served. The price charged is only one cent a glass. The milk is also furnished in larger quantities for the use of sick babies in the tenements. It is a nourishing and healthful food for the little ones.—Selected. "Owe no man anything, but to love one another." THE OPIUM CURSE IN CHINA.
FROM a late report of Rev. George A. Stuart, M.D., of the Methodist Hospital at Wuhu, China, we take the following extract:— "Our experience with the treatment of opium smokers has been anything but satisfactory. The use of opium seems to deaden all of the mental and moral faculties, so that no dependence can be placed upon the patient carrying out the line of treatment. We have tried all methods to insure success, from the most rigid rules, strict searching and guarding, to depending entirely upon the honor of the patient. If there was any difference in the results, it was in favor of the latter plan. In this way very few except those who really desired to be cured came to us. The regulation we finally adopted was a fee of $2.00, and twenty-one days' rice money, all in advance. If the patient remained the twenty-one days and obeyed the rules of the hospital, $1.00 was returned to him. We have also used all the methods of treatment of which we had knowledge, including immediate withdrawal of the drug and gradual diminution. We found that no "ironclad" rule could be adopted in this regard. The treatment must be adapted to the condition and disposition of the patient. Many of the patients do not desire to wholly abstain from the use of the drug, but, being unable to purchase so much as their systems require, they want to reduce the quantity to within the capacity of their cash account. Where patients openly express such a desire at entering, we refuse to receive them. "Opium smoking has become such a universal vice in this part of China that it seriously interferes with receiving patients for the treatment of other difficulties. At first we prohibited all use of opium by the patients, in any form, or in any place. We gradually relaxed this rule, and only stipulated that the drug should not be consumed on the hospital premises. But now, finding that many who really need treatment for other diseases are shut out by a rigid enforcement of this rule, we have, a la Chinoise, concluded not to know anything about its infringement if we do not see it. "Another vice that is becoming quite prevalent, and that more directly interferes with the proper treatment of disease, because it produces greater physical deterioration of the body, is the consumption of morphia, principally in the form of anti-opium pills and lozenges. And, sad to say, many native Christians and a few foreign missionaries are—I wish I could say ignorantly—engaged in the sale and distribution of this drug in the above-mentioned forms. While the anti-opium societies are endeavoring to suppress the opium traffic, it would be well for them to investigate to what extent morphia, pure or manufactured, is sold in China. They may find that while getting rid of one evil the enemy is substituting one more subtle, and therefore more damning and damnable." THE MELA AT ALLAHABAD.
By H. R. Francis
ALLAHABAD (City of God) was built by Hindus, and is held sacred by them. The confluences of the rivers Ganges and Jumna (about three miles distant) can be seen from the palace and fort. The water of each river is quite distinct in its own shade of color. Every year thousands of poor pilgrims visit the holy city to bathe in its waters. My heart sickens as I look back on a visit I recently paid to the mela, or fair, where I saw so much of the loathsomeness and superstition of heathendom. We started for it on the top of an elephant. After an hour's ride we came within sight of a long street of booths, or sheds, hastily put up for the sale of all sorts of wares, but principally for that of glass bottles of all sizes, for the reception of the sacred water of the Ganges, which is carried home by the returning pilgrims, and kept sacredly for many years. Wending our way through the great concourse of people, we came to the banks of the river, along the side of which for some distance stood tall bamboos, with flags and gay-colored cloth flying from them. This marked the place for the bathers; here, too, the priests performed some ceremony every morning. On a higher part of the bank of the river is a place where a poor Hindu lived without ever leaving the spot for forty years. He died a short time ago, and now another man has taken his place. As we stood there, a poor woman came and crouched on the ground to worship. Groups of filthy beggars sat around, and poor lepers were crying in piteous tones for money. We noticed a clean, good-looking young man, and, on accosting him, found he could speak fairly good English. I asked him about himself, and he told me he was a prince, but I have forgotten the name of his territory; he wanted to show me "the power of his God." He followed us closely, as we moved toward the most revolting scene I ever witnessed. Crossing the river by a bridge of boats, we came to the spot devoted to the fakirs. Pen cannot describe this horror of heathen darkness and devildom. In rows were hundreds of these wretched creatures, some lying without any clothing, covered with (wood) ashes, their faces painted almost every other color, their hair matted with filth, some dancing wildly in front of us, some drugged with narcotics, all looking more like demons than men. On some of the stands in front of which these poor creatures lay were several long planks of wood with a forest of sharp iron points two inches long, so sharp that they must have been driven into the flesh of the devotees who recline upon them. Retracing our steps, we saw multitudes, old and young alike, eagerly rushing into the Ganges, some throwing flowers into it, others drinking the waters, although many dead bodies are often seen floating down the stream, and the water was dark with mud and dirt. Presently we came to where the monkey god was lying, covering a space of about fifteen feet square. Money was placed upon its hideous limbs. Throngs of people touched it, and, being composed of red clay, the red substance was transferred to the fingers, and from thence to the forehead of the worshiper. The "prince" still followed us, and we noticed as he came in contact with a priest he stooped down and kissed his feet. We spoke to him of the Lord Jesus, the only Saviour, but his sensibilities seemed deadened, and I fear the message of grace and love had little in it to charm him. We turned away, sickened, for we could do so little for these deluded ones. Yet thousands of Christians, living at home in gospel lands, could reach multitudes here if they would only come. Think of twelve hundred natives passing into eternity every hour. What a well-known missionary says of China might with equal truth be applied to India: "See there men and women ignorantly bowing down before fierce monsters called idols,—these black, foul fiends of painted wood, mud, and stone,—torturing themselves with loathsome penances, with debaucheries unspeakable, well-nigh unthinkable, holding religious carnival, and giving the rein to every most revolting instinct of degraded and savage nature; look at it, and try to feel, if you can, how awful it must be in the sight of the holy, loving God and Father." I have told the story of this visit. Who will read it, and ponder the question, What can I do to evangelize the millions of India?—The Christian. GROWING OF A SOUL.
By Joaquin Miller
Hear ye this parable: A man
Did plant a garden. Vine and tree
Alike, in course of time, began
To put forth fair and pleasantly.
The rains of heaven, the persuading sun,
Came down alike on each and every one. Yet some trees willful grew, and some
Strong vines grew gaily in the sun,
With gaudy leaves, that ever come
To naught. And yet each flaunting one
Did flourish on and triumphantly grow
Like sunset clouds in all their moving show. But lo! the harvest found them not;
The soul had perished from them. Mold
And muck and leaf lay there to rot,
And furnish nourishment untold
To patient tree and lowly creeping vine
That grew as grew the husbandman's design. Hear then this lesson, hear and heed:
I say that chaff shall perish; say
Man's soul is like unto a seed,
To grow into the judgment day.
It grows and grows if he will have it grow;
It perishes if he must have it so.
—Joaquin Miller. THE London Daily News in an article prompted by a recently published book of Mr. Edwin Hodder on "Conquests of the Cross," makes the following remarks on the influence of life and character upon the heathen:— "Mr. Mackay, of Uganda, began as a mechanical engineer. In religious teaching, by example, no doubt, craftsmanship is the best of all helps. Mr. Mackay was a miracle worker with ax, hammer, and saw. The 'native' seems best to apprehend goodness through service. The medical missionaries who have carried out the gospel according to Sir Edwin Chadwick are said to have given the people of India something like a new moral sense. John Eliot won the American Indians, not as a preacher alone, but as a social leader and civilizer. "Character, of course, comes before all else as an influence for good. According to Livingstone, no one ever gains much influence in Africa without purity and uprightness. The savage seems to look first at what a man is, next at what he does, and only last at what he says. In this, as in so many other respects, he is very much like his civilized brother. Wherever his brother has gone wrong, it is in taking these things out of the proper order. Heroic dying is part of this truly noble art of being and doing."—Selected. THE SPIRIT OF GOD
By Joseph Harvey Waggoner
ITS OFFICES AND MANIFESTATIONS TO THE END OF THE CHRISTIAN ERA.
THIS is a brief but comprehensive argument on the solemn and important subject of the Spirit of God. Its chapters embrace the following heads: The Holy Spirit of Promise; The Power from on High; Circumcision of the heart; The Unity of the Faith; The Law and the Testimony; Try the Spirits; The Great Commission; Gifts in the Reformation; In the Present Century; Spirit of Prophecy Restored. These are subjects of vital importance to all and especially to those who are looking for the return of their Lord. 144 pp. Price, 15 cents.
Address, PACIFIC PRESS, Oakland, Cal. ANGELS; THEIR NATURE AND MINISTRY. Contains also some hints on the origin, history, and destiny of Satan as gleaned from the Scriptures. Bible Students' Library, No. 82
Pacific Press Pub. Co., Oakland, Cal. 140 pp.; 20 cents. Getting Publications Before the People
If there is one work more important than another, it is that of getting our publications before the people, thus leading them to search the Scriptures. Missionary work—introducing our publications into families, conversing and praying with and for them—is a good work, and one which will educate men and women to do pastoral labor.—Gospel Workers, p. 342.