The above is the title of a recent article in that conservative English journal, the Spectator. It says: “The century has been one of almost continuous progress, but its close is being marked by a singular epidemic of restlessness among the nations. They all say they are powerful and prosperous and advancing, but they all give signs of deep dissatisfaction with their position.”
It then reviews the condition of the various great powers in the civilized world, and discusses the causes of unrest and dissatisfaction. In France it is the “social system,” and the thirst for power and glory. In Germany it is the red specter of Socialism, of which there are 2,000,000 active adherents, about the number of the entire army, with a ruler thirsting for power and glory outside of German territory. Says the Spectator: “There are signs in Germany which are ominous of coming trouble in the world.”
In Austria it is “little better.” In Russia, a “feverish wish for more room and freer access to the sea.” “In Italy no one is happy, and in Turkey the dominant race is so stirred up by fears and furies that it is deliberately threatening all its Christian subjects, and extirpating one ancient people with horrid incidents of cruelty and lust.”
In the United States it sees trouble in the economic question produced by changes in the value of silver, and its unsatisfied and longing pride. England also is troubled by fear of war, economic questions, etc. And the Spectator closes its review of the nations thus:—
“The civilized world, in truth, which for nearly a century has advanced so rapidly on the path of material progress, is at this point of its strenuous labors seething with discontent, ready to risk all it has attained in an outburst of furious wars, intended to secure objects which it only half perceives in the distance, and is by no means certain that it really at heart desires. . . . A very small match just now would fire the magazine, and we feel no confidence, as we did five years ago, that all the matches are in safe hands. It is useless to say that the extent of the armaments is a guarantee of security, or that the peoples will not permit war, or that war is too wicked for the sensitive consciences of the modern nations.”
And all this is in harmony with the predictions of the Prophet of Nazareth, who eighteen and a half centuries ago predicted these very times and things as precursors of his second coming. “And there shall be signs; . . . upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; . . . men’s hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth.” Luke 21:25, 26. The next great event is the coming of Christ. The nations are rousing for conflict. The slumbering giants of the Orient are rousing, arming, and training for war. The nations are quaffing of the cup of war, as foretold in chapter 25 of the prophet Jeremiah. Only the angels of God are holding the winds, that his work may be done, his Gospel given to the world, his people called out. Surely it is high time for all Christians to arouse, when the story of the press for every day is the record of the fulfillment of prophecy.
Another Sophistical Decision.
By W. N. G.
That learned judges can resort to sophistry in arguing legal points, and that decisions involving constitutional questions may be the result of mere personal prejudice, is shown in the recent decision by the New York Supreme Court that the barbers’ Sunday law of that state is constitutional. The law prohibits barbers from plying their vocation on Sunday, excepting in New York City and in Saratoga. The exception, of itself, makes the law class legislation, which is quite generally conceded to be unconstitutional. But, aside from this technicality, one of the reasons given by the court that the law is constitutional is that the prohibition of Sunday labor “was regulated by statute prior to the adoption of the Federal Constitution and the constitution of the state.” The question therefore arises, What force at all has either the Federal Constitution or that of the state, if the preëxisting order of things must necessarily continue as before? Most people, especially we common people, suppose that the Federal and state Constitutions were adopted expressly for the purpose of inaugurating a “new order of things.” That is what is implied by the inscription, “Novus Ordo Seclorum,” on the great seal of the United States. The doctrine that Sunday legislation, or legislation of any character, can not be affected by a constitutional principle because such legislation existed prior to the Constitution, sounds very strange outside of the particular circle of people who desire legislation which can not stand on any other principle. If this strange doctrine be true, then what becomes of all the constitutional amendments that have been adopted by both the Federal and state governments for the express purpose of doing away with certain legislative regulations that existed prior to the adoption of the amendments?
This new decision of the New York Supreme Court is evidently born of the now popular craze for passing as a wonderfully religious people through the enforced observance of the Sunday institution. The reasoning is on a par with the “Christian nation” dictum of the U. S. Supreme Court, which conclusion was based mainly on the acts of European governments and of the American colonies of Great Britain before this nation had an existence. It is said that “necessity is the mother of invention,” and the assumed necessity for Sunday legislation in these last days seems to be prolific of a most incongruous brood. Learned men from the theological and legal schools advance arguments in support of such legislation so illogical, so puerile, that they would meet only ridicule if offered in support of any legitimate or really meritorious proposition.
Three elements must inevitably combine to establish religion by civil law in any country,—(1) a ministry ambitious of political influence, (2) a truckling law-making power, and (3) a swerving, sophistical judiciary. That all these were to be and are a characteristic of the last days is abundantly shown in the Scriptures. And where these elements prevail, the spirit of religious liberty may expect fierce encounters with that of religious tyranny in the guise of civil law. W. N. G.
Class Legislation
The morality and stamina of character of the present day is manifest in the expressed design of the bootblacks of Oakland. Not having the grace or grit to close their stands on Sunday themselves, they are “considering the idea of getting an ordinance passed by the city council to close such places at noon or one o’clock. In this way we might bring those into line who have so far refused to come. It is being looked into, and if it can be done, it will be.”
There is now pending before the Supreme Court of California the constitutionality of a Sunday law passed at the last Legislature at the request of a local Barbers’ Union. These cases are class legislation with a vengeance, legislation to enforce the rule of a “union,” or the desire of a man who has not principle enough to do what is right unless he can compel others to do what he thinks is right.
I HAVE SEEN THEE.
By Mrs. Ogden Lewis
BY MRS. OGDEN LEWIS.
I LOVE thee, precious Saviour;
I have seen thee thrice to-day,
Once a traveler worn and weary,
Once an orphan by the way;
Once, by faith, at twilight hour,
I have seen thee, and thy word
Gave the sweet and blest assurance
That mine evening prayer was heard.
First I heard thee gently knocking,
And I hurried to the door;
For I knew it was thee tapping,
I had heard thee there before.
There I found thee nearly famished,
Trembling on the pauper’s brink,
For the want of tender pity,
Loving smiles, refreshing drink.
“Ah,” I said, “come in, dear Master,
Rest a while, then thou shalt feast;
Here’s a drink to cool the throbbing—
Thou art truly of the least!”
Hope lit up thy weary visage
And reflected on my heart;
All my aches and pains had left me,
Tho’ I’d played a humble part.
And new light broke forth like noonday,
All my darkness fled away;
For one ray from thy grand presence
Turns e’en midnight into day.
Then, again, ’twas by the wayside,
Clothed in rags—a little child,
Thou wast dirty, homely, crying,
As I kissed and on thee smiled,
Took my snowy, clean, white linen,
Brushed the dirt and sweat away,
Said, “Come, darling, be my loved one;
Come and with me always stay.”
Hope again had found a welcome;
All thy sobbings quickly ceased;
This the “last” that I had chosen,
This to feed and clothe—the least.
Now, again, my soul was feasting
From bright, refreshing rays,
While I felt that I was nothing,
That to thee was all the praise.
Thirdly, at my bedside kneeling,
When the sun had fled from sight,
I was asking for thy keeping
Through this dark and stormy night.
Ah! I heard thee gently whisper—
As by faith I saw thee there—
Saying, “I will never leave thee,
Nor forget thy faithful prayer;
“Thou shalt call and I will answer;
I will feed thy soul in drought;
Thou shalt be a watered garden,
Spring whose water faileth not.
“Thou hast seen me poor, afflicted,
Hast fulfilled the ‘Inasmuch,’
And the kingdom of my Father
Shall be opened unto such.”
Precious Saviour, I’m unworthy
Of thy promises so free,
But I know that thou art worthy,
And will give the praise to thee.
Come again, for thou art welcome;
Tho’ I’m busy as a bee,
I will take the time; poor traveler,
Come again and sup with me.
THE SAMARITAN.
By Ruth Lawrence
BY RUTH LAWRENCE.
THERE was an excitement in the tenement when Mikey moved in, for he brought a yellow dog that annoyed the people on his "floor."
The dog was of no special kind, except, perhaps, the lucky-dog variety; but his master loved him, altho he defied classification.
He was a commonplace dog, with the commonplace name of Jim. He had little originality and not a spark of genius; in short, he was a plain, everyday fellow.
He annoyed the people on his floor simply because he was a dog, and their affections were centered in the fairest specimen of cat-hood in the alley—a dainty Persian puss, whose early days had been spent basking among flowers in the land of Omar Khayyam. She was an aristocrat au bout des griffes, and quite intolerant of Jim’s mongrel ways. Amasia, for so she was called, had come to this country with a nautical character nearly allied to her present owner’s. The nautical relative often called when in town, and created quite a sensation in the alley, for he wore two earrings, and a sailor is only entitled to one.
The canine and feline neighbors were not friendly. When Jim wished to go downstairs, Amasia would mount guard on the top step and refuse to let him pass. When Jim, being once down, desired to return, Amasia would block the way and impede his progress. Often a passage of arms was the result. Jim had enough of the gentleman in him (a King Charles strain—how blood will tell!) not to fight a lady, but Amasia gave no quarter; she was feminine, and she was oriental.
Mikey and Tom, scions of two mighty houses of Hibernia, were forced daily to run to the landing and separate the combatants.
It was “unreasonable,” according to Tom, for Mikey not to admit that his dog caused the trouble. Tom was “pig-headed,” said Mikey, not to acknowledge that it was the fault of his cat.
Thus matters stood for nearly a year.
Jim bore many a scar inflicted by the beautiful Amasia, who looked so white and gentle as she drowsed upon the window-sill that no one in the world would have believed her capable of malice.
It was winter, cold, bleak, and drear. Jim was jogging home in the chill of a dull afternoon. Snow, mud, and slush, that grimy compound that marks the wake of a great city’s traffic, blocked the streets. People hurried up and down, reviling the weather. Jim was hungry, tired, and a little out of sorts. Presently a shout of fiendish glee rent the icy air, and down the street, pell-mell, sped a troop of lusty, red-cheeked boys in eager pursuit of a cat. A volley of snowballs, sharp sticks, and bits of ice, a very artillery of youth’s invention, went whizzing through the air.
And the victim?—Poor Amasia, lame, bleeding, and “besprent with mire,” who would have recognized in you the sleek darling of the kitchen?
“Catch her, boys; catch her,” cried one of her tormentors, as he flung a heavy missile.
Amasia, faint with fright, looked wildly for some way of escape, but there was no retreat. The boys were close upon her, and she paused, dazed and exhausted, as a milk cart came rumbling down the street. Then the boys saw Jim.
“Sick ’im!” they screamed, still pelting the unfortunate cat; “sick ’im!”
With one bound Jim reached the center of the street in time to drag the helpless Amasia from beneath the cart wheels. Taking her by the neck, as he had seen a cat carry her kitten, he leaped past the astonished boys, and ran until he gained the alley.
They found him licking her wounds and trying to soothe her in his poor, clumsy way. He was tender, even if he was stupid.
Years have come and gone; both are now quite old, but the friendship then begun has never waned.
Their owners dwell in unity; peace reigns on the top floor of the tenement.
As for Jim and Amasia, you may see them sunning themselves in the alley any warm spring day, when the hand-organ season has set in and the venders are calling, “Strawberries.”—Our Dumb Friends.
BURNING TREE OF BURMA.
THERE has lately been added to the collection of plants at the Botanic Gardens at Madras, India, a specimen of a strange tree. It is in size scarcely more than a bush, but others of its species are known to have attained, in their habitat in the Himalayas, Burma, and the Malacca Peninsula, the dimensions of a large tree, from fifty to seventy-five feet in height. The Madras specimen is surrounded by a strong railing, which bears the sign: “Dangerous—all persons are forbidden to touch the leaves or branches of this tree.” It is, therefore, a forbidden tree in the midst of the garden, but no one is tempted to touch it, for it is known to be a burning tree. This name is a misnomer, for the tree stings rather than burns. Beneath the leaves there are stings comparable to those nettles which when touched pierce the skin and secrete a fluid which certainly has a burning effect. The sting leaves no outward sign, but the sensation of pain persists sometimes for months, and is especially keen on damp days, or when the place which has been wounded is plunged in water. The natives in the parts of Burma where this tree grows are in such terror of it that they fly in haste when they perceive the peculiar odor which it exhales. If they happen to touch it, they fall on the ground and roll over and over on the earth, with shrieks. Dogs touched by it yelp and run, biting and tearing the part of their bodies that has been touched. A horse which had come in contact with a burning tree, ran like a mad thing, biting everything and everybody that it could reach. A missionary at Mandalay, who investigated a leaf of the plant with his forefinger, suffered agony for several weeks, and for ten months felt occasional darting pains in his finger.—Information.
THE PRISONER'S ORDEAL.
The story is told that a king's son who was taken prisoner, was to be released on condition that he submit to being led at the hour of noon through the streets of the city.
“O!” said the young man, “how can I bear to see the mockings of the people?”
“You do not yet know how you will be led,” answered the king.
When the hour arrived, he gave him a vessel filled to the brim with milk to carry, saying that as soon as he spilled a drop he must die. Close behind him walked the executioner, dagger in hand, ready to carry out the terrible penalty.
From far and near the people had gathered to behold the prisoner upon his perilous journey. The streets were lined, and windows and even the roofs were crowded with spectators. When the young man had passed through the terrible ordeal, the king beckoned to him and said:—
“Well, what kind of faces did the people make?”
“O king,” said the youth, “I saw not one! I only saw my life in my hands, and death behind me.”
“Thus,” replied the king, “walk through life.”
The lesson is a good one; we should not go through life all the while thinking, “What will folks say?” “How will it look?” and the like. Let us be like this youth. Let us not look around, but, taking care to ourselves, see that we walk very carefully, ever heeding the divine Voice that says, “This is the way, walk ye in it.”—Selected.
HOW TO BE A GENTLEMAN.
“You see I am a gentleman!” said Will Thompson. “I will not take an insult.” And the little fellow strutted up and down with rage. He had been throwing stones at Peter Jones, and thought that his anger proved him to be a gentleman.
“If you want to be a gentleman, I should think you would be a gentle boy first,” said his teacher. “Gentlemen do not throw stones at their neighbors. Peter Jones did not throw stones at you, and I think he is much more likely to prove a gentleman.”
“But he has got patches on his knee,” said Will.
“Bad pantaloons do not keep a boy from being a gentleman, but a bad temper does. Now, William, if you want to be a gentleman, you must first be a gentle boy.”
A little further on the teacher met Peter Jones. Some stones had hit him, and he was hurt by them.
“Well, Peter, what is the matter between you and Will this morning?” he asked.
“I was throwing a ball at one of the boys, in play, sir, and I missed him, and hit Will Thompson’s dog.”
“Then, when he threw stones at you, why did you not throw back?”
“Because, sir, mother says to be a gentleman I must be a gentle boy, and I thought it best to keep out of his way until he cooled off a little.”
The teacher walked on, but kept the boys in mind. He lived to see Will Thompson a rowdy, and Peter Jones a gentleman, loved and respected by all.—Christian Work.
MUSIC
By Frederick S. Root
“God sent his singers upon earth,
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.”
Let all who sing remember how high and holy is their mission. Pure hearts and pure voices are sources of redemption to many a blasted and ruined life.
“Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.”
How the lines melt to the tenderness of the Infinite Love! Wedded to appropriate melody, and sung by him whose soul is filled with a joyous sense of the Divine Presence in forgiveness, these words become the hallowed prayer of a worshipful people. So with hundreds of the grand old hymns of the church. When we put religion into music, either of instruments or of voices, and make the power of melody the power of the Holy Spirit in character, music rises to the measure of the old Hebrew conception of its place in the house of God, and becomes as the very breathing of that Harmony whose presence all space doth inhabit. The power of music in Christian worship is yet but a promise. Let the tides of religion in choir and congregation the deeper flow, and the sham of music, that sings the words without a sympathetic soul, will disappear forever, only to unveil the unutterable depths of a melody whose every tone is the master-tone of God.—Frederick S. Root.
A Little Maid Learning Her Letters
“What are you studying, my little maid?”
“I’m learning to read in a book,” she said.
“And what is your favorite word?” said I.
Then the little maiden made reply,
“Big A is the nicest word I know.”
And when I asked why she thought it so,
She gravely answered (the sly little tot),
“Because big A is as far as I’ve got!”
—St. Nicholas.
UPPER BURMA.
The Rev. Ola Hanson, of Bhamo, Burma, missionary of the American Baptist missionary Union, thus writes to the Independent of a new mission field in Upper Burma:—
“The opening of the Burma State Railway from Mandalay to Katha marks a new era in the history of Upper Burma. A large tract of new country is now open for missionary work, but where are the workers? The whole of Upper Burma between Mandalay and Bhamo, not to speak of the country north of the last-mentioned place, on both sides of the Irrawaddy, is virtually as yet an unbroken field. An occasional visit of some missionary, to the villages along the river, has been undertaken; but nothing has been done in the interior. The workers in Mandalay, Sagaing, and Bhamo have all they can do to work the districts close at hand. What is needed is the opening of at least two new stations somewhere along the new road. The railroad, the telegraph, the tradesman, and fortune seeker, have already found their way to places where missionary work ought to have been done long ago.
“The work among the Burmans, Shans, and Kachins in Upper Burma witnesses a steady progress. A number of Burmans have been baptized recently, and the new Shan work in Nam Kam has had some additions. The Kachin language may now be regarded as being reduced to writing. It has been my joy to see a new spelling-book and catechism ready for use; and in a few weeks the Gospel of John, the first part of the Scriptures ever translated into Kachin, will be in the hands of our school-children. This, to be sure, is a small beginning, but with the blessing of God it may be a means of accomplishing great things.”
“The recent troubles in Western China have made us anxious for the welfare of our brethren across the border. A telegram (and, by the way, it is worth mentioning that telegraphic communication between Burma and the interior of China is now possible) from Mr. Smith, of the China Inland Mission, in Tali Fu, assures us, however, that they are all safe, and that no trouble is expected in that part of the country. It is, however, easy to see that their position must be a trying one. They need our prayers.
“The annual convention of the Baptists in Burma, recently held in Rangûn, was in every way a success. A healthy progress has followed the work in every part of the country; new fields have been opened; the number of baptisms are up to the average; a greater need of spiritual power, always a hopeful sign, is felt in many places. The cold season, with new opportunities for jungle work, is again inviting us to new efforts; and let us pray that this may be a year of great ingathering in every part of this needy country.”
IDOLATRY IN SOUTH AMERICA.
By Rev. Geo. G. Froggatt
BY REV. GEO. G. FROGGATT.
IDOLATRY in its grossest and most pernicious forms continues to wax daily stronger and stronger in the Argentine and in the Uruguay republics. In proof of the correctness of this statement I take the following paragraph from a late number of one of the most prominent English papers published daily in Buenos Ayres: “The pilgrimage to the shrine of the Virgin at Lujar, to celebrate the eighth anniversary of the coronation of the Virgin, will commence on the 12th [September, 1895]. It is stated that there will be many thousands of pilgrims from the provinces of Buenos Ayres, Santa Fe, and Entre Rios. The sum of $350,000 has been expended upon the new church. The donations in money to this date exceed $500,000. An Argentine widow lady has given two altars, constructed in Paris, at the cost of $5,000 each. The oriental republic has given a large lamp made of gold and silver and ornamented with jewels.” . . .
We see one remedy alone for this awful sin against God and against man’s enlightened conscience, and that remedy consists in a knowledge, combined with a deep love, of the teachings contained in the Holy Scriptures in regard to this degrading and shameful evil, unfortunately so deeply rooted in the thought, in the habits, and in the institutions of the vast majority of the people who inhabit these countries.
Many Argentines and natives of Uruguay are ready and willing enough to condemn the idolatry of the Chinese or of the Japanese, etc., whenever they read about it, or are informed in regard to the same, but there is no possible way of making them understand that they are, relatively, far more idolatrous themselves than the poor, ignorant Chinaman, or the more cultured but spiritually ignorant native of Japan, whom they so readily, yet so unreasonably, condemn. What is still worse, and infinitely more discouraging, is the fact that neither the average Argentine nor the average native of Uruguay is at all willing to condemn, and to free himself absolutely from, the idolatrous principle. The one as much as the other has made up his mind, apparently, not to recognize that idolatry in itself—never mind to whom paid, or under what pretext indulged in—is a crime against heaven and a grievous offense against human reason.
Whatever the theories of men like Dr. Carroll may be concerning the extent of the Christian element in the Church of Rome, it is an unquestionable, self-evident fact, attested to by thousands, that the Church of Rome, throughout all Spanish America, is hardly entitled, in any true sense of the term, to be called a Christian church.—Gospel in All Lands.
SELF-SUPPORT IN NATIVE CHURCHES.
By J. E. Scott
BY REV. J. E. SCOTT,
Missionary of the Methodist Episcopal Church at Muttra.
In these hard times it more than ever is an uppermost topic and a great problem among missionaries in India how to get the native Christian people to giving toward the support of their pastors. The people are, indeed, very poor, but it seems feasible—if they will all give—to gather something that will amount to something. Recently I have had a great object lesson on the subject, which is worth telling to the readers of The Independent. About a year ago, at the session of the Northwest India Annual Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, which met in Muttra, a meeting was held to consider the subject of self-support. There was much enthusiasm. Surely, it was thought, the 35,000 Christians within the bounds of the conference might support some of their pastors. So twenty-two of the workers were selected from the seven districts into which the conference is divided, and it was resolved to try to support these from the contributions of the people.
After conference adjourned, the leaders of the church set to work to push self-support. The president of the society is a pure native, the Rev. Charles Luke, the presiding elder of the Bulandshahr district. I have just come from attending his annual self-support meeting. It was a grand success. Such enthusiasm I never saw. There were about four hundred people present, filling a large tent which had been erected. A brass band had been secured for the occasion. And, amid the shouts and songs of the people, the twelve circuits which made up the district brought into the tent and deposited the offerings of the year. They amounted to nearly seven hundred rupees—much more than enough to support the number of men who had been assigned to that district to be supported from the fund. So they took on two more, amid great rejoicing.
These contributions were all from natives, and were from the poor people. Among other offerings there were numerous bags of12grain, and piles of fragments of bread, which would be sold again to feed animals, and scores of domestic fowls, and dozens of eggs. One man brought a horse, and another a cow, and a third a buffalo. There were a number of sucking pigs, and six pigeons, and bags of shells, which are used for money by the very poor. So that these were really the contributions of the people. I never saw such rejoicing. They really felt that they were doing something that amounted to something. And it does. It means everything in our work. It puts new life into it. It gives the people something to work for. It helps our depleted treasury. It gives all hope and courage. This is the greatest movement that has ever taken place in our work. We expect to come up at the end of the year with not only the twenty-two workers paid in full by the people, but with a number of others, also, who were taken on where the amount raised was in excess of the requirements.
In these days, when the home church has such difficulty in raising the money needed, it will be cheering to know that the foreign churches are beginning to support themselves. And the above is a bright example of what is being done among us.—The Independent.
THE LOUD CALL FROM FAR-AWAY LANDS.
By F. J. Stevens
BY F. J. STEVENS.
How loud is the calling from far-away lands
For the message of Jesus, the Word,
To whom in their needs do they spread forth their hands
For the news which they never have heard!
To you it is given to carry afar
This sweet Gospel, the message of life,
To point to the light of the bright Morning Star
As the healer of passion and strife.
Their voices are ringing from over the sea,
Where oppression and cruelty reign,
Where pity is blinded and love has no plea,
And the weak by the stronger are slain.
“O, haste with the peace-giving Gospel,” they cry,
“To deliver from conflict and hate!”
And earnestly looking to us for reply
In their darkness despairing they wait.
From Africa’s millions, from China’s dense throngs,
From the isles of the sea, comes the wail,
From those with a gospel distorted, the wrongs
Are entreating to lift off the veil.
Delay not to share what your Lord has supplied,
Which so freely is given to you,
And carry or send till his light, spreading wide,
Has dispelled thought and doctrine untrue.
—Gospel in All Lands.
FACTS ABOUT VENEZUELA.
Eight states are in the union.
The population of Venezuela is 2,121,998.
Venezuela contains 566,000 square miles.
Fifty per cent. of the population are pure-blooded Indians.
The territory in dispute between the republic and Great Britain is about the size of Maine.
British Guiana was acquired by England through treaty in 1814.
The constitution of Venezuela is modeled on that of the United States.
The coast of Venezuela was the first part of the American mainland sighted by Columbus.
From 1550 until early in this century the country was under Spanish domination.
In 1810 Venezuela rose against the Spanish yoke, and in the following year the independence of the territory was proclaimed.
The difficulties between Venezuela and Great Britain first arose in 1836.
It is estimated that about seventy-five revolutions have occurred since the establishment of the republic.
An absolute separation of church and state has been effected; civil marriage is insisted upon, and other progressive institutions have been established.
Previous to 1886 her republic school system was very unimportant, only 1,312 pupils being in attendance at the public schools in the year mentioned. Now the attendance exceeds 100,000.
It was not until 1845 that the independence of the republic was recognized by Spain in the treaty of Madrid.
The emancipation of slaves took place on March 24, 1854.—Chicago Times Herald.