"Don't be hasty with Charley," said Mary Thomas to her husband, as she heard him sharply tell him not to be late home from school.
"But I mean to let him know I will be obeyed," was her husband's reply, as he added, "Now, then, be off to school, and come straight home, or I'll know why."
Charley started off with the tears stealing down his cheeks. He was a bright, manly fellow of some nine years of age, full of health and vigor, and therefore naturally disposed to be on the move. His father, however, was rather disposed to forget that "boys will be boys," or that it would be unnatural in such a lad not to be buoyant whenever an occasion presented for the display of his youthful vigor.
He had, however, to learn it to his cost. During the afternoon his business matters had become somewhat trying, and he went home with a vexed spirit. He was by no means unkind, but easily annoyed if things did not go exactly to suit him, especially little ones. Prompt and exact himself, he could not put up with the absence of such qualities in others.
Sitting by the fire in rather an unhappy mood, it was made worse by his wife coming in and saying in an excited manner:—
"I do declare, Charley has just come home in a perfect mess! He is covered from head to foot with mud and drenched to the skin."
"Where is he?" asked the father sternly.
"In the kitchen shivering over the fire. He was afraid to come in, because the servant told him you were at home."
"I don't wonder at his being afraid. Why, it was only yesterday I told him to keep away from the river, and that he was on no account to get near the edge on his way home from school. So tell him to come in this instant."
A moment after Charley entered, perishing with cold and fright. One glance at his father's face was enough to tell him what to expect from experience.
"Did I not tell you never to go near the river? It serves you right, and in the morning I'll let you know what I think of your conduct in such a way you won't forget."
"But, father," said the little fellow, "do let me explain and tell you—"
"Not one word—go to bed at once."
"I only want to tell you, father, that—"
"I tell you, not a word," said the father, and, with a wave of his hand, he added, "You go to bed or you will regret it."
Slowly the boy obeyed, and crept supperless to bed. When he left the room, his mother said gently:—
"I think, father, you ought to have heard what Charley had to tell you. My heart ached when he turned away. You know he is generally obedient, and if he does something wrong, it is more from want of thought than willfulness."
"Still he ought to do as I told him, as I did so plainly about not going near the river."
Somehow a cloud seemed to come over the home that night, and a restraint crept between them and their usual manner when alone. When at length they retired to rest, as they passed the bedroom of the little fellow, something prompted the father to look in. Creeping in and sheltering the candle, he gazed upon his boy's face as he calmly and sweetly slept. A feeling of regret at his own harshness sprung up in his mind, which he tried in vain to suppress by saying that "a sense of duty" required him to be firm. On talking over the matter, however, with the mother, he promised that before proceeding to extreme measures in the morning he would listen to what the boy had to say, and, if it was a reasonable excuse, make amends to his wounded spirit.
Alas! the opportunity never came, for when they awoke in the morning, it was to discover the lad tossing with brain fever, from which he never recovered, and in a few days, although they watched and waited in speechless agony and the most intense desire for some recognition, he passed away.
When the news reached the school, one of Charley's most intimate companions called, and after a while said:—
"I was with Charley when he got into the water."
"Indeed!" said the father, "then you can tell me how it happened."
"Yes. Two boys were fishing, and somehow one slipped in and raised a cry for help. Charley threw off his cap and jumped in, and, after a deal of trouble, got the boy to the side of the river and waded through the mud, where I helped them both ashore. Charley told me not to say anything about it, for you had warned him not to go near the water, and all the way home he kept saying: 'What will my father say when he sees me? But I felt I must save Tom.'"
"My poor, brave boy!" exclaimed the father. "That was what he wanted to tell me, and I cruelly refused to hear him, owing to my hasty temper. God forgive me!"
Hot and bitter tears rolled down his cheeks, and for years the sight of Charley's toys, schoolbooks, and other things, sent many a pang to his heart which might have been saved if he had been willing to listen before he condemned his poor boy.—Our Young Folks.
THE BEST USE OF COOKIES.
IN San Francisco the city officials provided work for hundreds of unemployed men on the streets and in the public park. People subscribed money to keep up the work, but of course the men work for small wages, and none of them have work all the time, but it helps to keep them from starving. One thing in this connection has created quite a sensation, and that is the project of some of the public schools to carry lunch to the $1.00-a-day laborers. The story of how this plan originated is quite interesting, and is told as follows by the Examiner:—
"In the Meyer family, on Golden Gate Avenue, there is a small boy with a craving for cookies that is all absorbing, and he is accustomed to bridge over the gaps between meals with these edibles, as many as he can lay his hands on. One day last week his elder sister took him for a drive up through the Park. With his customary forethought, and fearing that he might be a few minutes late for his dinner, he cached a few dozen of cookies in his various pockets before starting.
"He had barely begun on his second cooky when the buggy, his sister, and he came in sight of the unemployed at present employed on the Park roadways. It was lunch time for the men, but in name only, for lunch becomes an unattainable luxury when you are earning the first dollar you have seen in months, shoveling sand out by the ocean beach.
"The poor fellows were gathered in little groups, wistfully tightening their belts and striving to forget their hunger in the rapt234contemplation of the much-needed dollar at the end of their dinnerless day.
"Miss Meyer looked at the pinched faces of the men and then at her small brother's bulging pockets. Without a word he emptied his hidden store into her lap. She beckoned to one of the men.
"'Would you care for some cookies, sir?'"
"The man was so astonished he couldn't say a word. There are times when a cooky is bigger than a thirteen-course French dinner, and this was one of them. His eyes, however, spoke plainer than any words, and the next minute cookies were disappearing down his throat with a rapidity that made even the experienced small Master Meyer blink with surprise.
"Other hungry men gathered around the buggy, and those cookies were placed where they would do the most good, in the twinkling of an eye. It was but a mouthful apiece, but compared with nothing at all it was a good deal.
"'When we drove off,' said Miss Meyer in describing the scene, 'it was "God bless you, ma'am," and "Thank you a thousand times," until I could hardly see to drive for the tears in my eyes.
"'Next day I baked a big cake and took it out and about one hundred cookies, but it didn't seem to go any further than the little I had the day before. The men gathered around the carriage and held out their hands—never said a word, but just held out their hands—hundreds of them. It almost broke my heart to see the disappointed faces when I had to tell them that I had no more. I couldn't sleep that night for thinking of it.
"'I told them all about it at home, and Lillie, that's my little sister, jumped up and said: "I'll speak to Miss Strauss, our teacher, and ask her to speak to all the scholars, and we'll each one of us bring a lunch and send it out to the poor men in the Park." She did the very next day, and that's the way the idea was started in the Hamilton School.'"
"And that's the way a bright girl solved a question that has puzzled a lot of older heads."
SPARE MOMENTS.
By Mrs. Emily Thornton
Oh, be careful of spare moments,
Little moments slipping past;
Though they seem of no importance,
Disappearing, oh, how fast!
It were better far to turn them to some good account at last.
Life itself is made up solely
Of these moments set in hours;
And we find that man's improvement
Both in health and mental powers
All depends upon right usage of odd moments that are ours.
Some there are who, ever reckless,
Throw this precious gift away,
Gambling, stealing, fighting, drinking,
Lounging idly, day by day,
Reeling homeward then, at midnight, flinging curses by the way.
Others, studious and thoughtful,
In life mingle, cool and calm,
Toiling hard from morn till nightfall,
And, while toiling, sing some psalm,
Making study in the evening prove a spirit-soothing balm.
Some, exempt from toilsome labor,
Having riches, power, and health,
Use these moments to advantage
By distributing their wealth
To the needy, not for lip praise, for they do good half by stealth.
Some, again, in quiet home walks
Have a loving word to say,
Cheering weary, toil-worn parents,
Helping dear ones, day by day,
Their spare moments being fruitful in a humble, cheerful way.
—Mrs. Emily Thornton.
The Fish That Get Away
THE fish that get away are the ones that always look the biggest.
THE CANDY HABIT.
By C. W. Lyman
Does the term surprise anyone? He only needs to look about in our cities and villages, and notably in Brooklyn, where women and children so preponderate in numbers, until nightfall brings the male element back in thousands from the metropolis. He cannot fail to come upon areas where candy shops are as thick as the saloons are at Guttenberg. And, like the twenty-eight or more liquor shops that nearly monopolize the business of the little racing town of Guttenberg and indicate the ruling proclivity of its inhabitants and visitors, so do these candy stores point to a deep-rooted and widespread habit among women and children. Especially is this so where their employments are few and light.
But is candy to be classed among the inebriating substances that humanity continues to mock and abuse itself with?
As the best answer to such possible queries I will ask the reader to observe for himself, among the active patrons of candy stores, how many are subject to irregularities of appetite at meals, indigestions, headaches, lack of habitually exuberant spirits, tendency to colds, and uneasy sleep.
It is true that a moderate amount of sugar can be digested daily, not without some difficulty, but entirely without harm. This amount, and usually much more, we Americans take regularly at meals, in our sweetened drinks, in our desserts, and on our fruit and our oatmeal. The unmerciful addition between meals of half a pound, less or more, of sugar diluted only with strong flavoring oils and extracts—here indeed comes the rub.
Digestion is inevitably disordered, the liver overwhelmed with work; and every structure in the body bathed for hours with blood containing either this irritating sugar in solution or the still more irritating products of indigestion. Are low spirits, restlessness, headache, a cold in the head, and a sour stomach matters of surprise to our candy eater? Is a visit to the drugstore next in order, for little liver pills, or to the learned but expensive doctor?—Dr. C. W. Lyman.
FOURFOOTED WITNESSES.
THE testimony of two large and magnificent mastiff dogs settled a lawsuit in Magistrate Tyrrell's court in Cincinnati recently. The squire was hearing the replevin suit of Dr. Edgar Buck against John Dallman, a saloon keeper. The dispute was upon the ownership of the dogs. The witnesses of both parties had been examined, when Dr. Buck arose and stated that he desired to introduce two witnesses who had not been heard. He was granted the privilege, whereupon Constable Ismael brought from a rear cell, where they were confined since their seizure by the officer, two fine, large, English mastiffs. The doctor introduced them as Dane and Hector, and requested that they be sworn.
The squire looked up in astonishment, but Dr. Buck insisted, and the magistrate, appreciating the situation, ordered the animals to raise their right hands. Instantly both dogs arose on their hind feet and raised the right paw. Dr. Buck then handed a paper containing several directions to the court. The first read, "Hector, stand up." This was put by the squire, whereupon the dog Hector arose as before, but without raising his paw. The same happened when Dane was told to arise. The next read, "Where is your master?" This was put to each dog in turn, and in each instance the animal walked back to Dr. Buck, who had gone to a far corner, and, fawning upon him, gave a short bark and returned to his place before the squire's rostrum.
Then the question, "Where is Dane?" was put to one dog, who, turning his head, looked straight at Dane and gave a short bark. The same performance was gone through by Dane concerning Hector. Upon this the defense moved that the dog farce be ruled out of the proceedings, but Squire Tyrrell overruled the motion. A judgment in favor of Dr. Buck was then given by the court, and the dogs turned over to him.—Boston Traveler.
CHILD MARRIAGE IN INDIA.
It is said that one in every six of the women of India is a widow. There are in India, in round numbers, 21,000,000 widows, 78,976 of whom are child widows under nine years of age, and 207,388 from ten to fourteen years of age. This results from the practice of child marriage, which is prevalent in India.
The following description of a Hindu child wedding is given by Mrs. Samuel Merrill, wife of the U. S. Consul in Calcutta:—
"We asked, 'Which is the bride?' She was pointed out. 'That little creature! that tiny child!' I took her hand and patted her soft cheeks, and longed to pick her up in my arms and pet her, and love her—she was so small and yet going to be married to-night! She was eight years old, but looked not more than six. She did not smile or seem to care about anything. The mother was there, only twenty herself, and appearing like an older sister. I wondered if she did not pity her child. But the most engrossing object to our astonished eyes was the bridegroom. He sat in a large chair on a raised platform at one side, and was being disrobed by several attendants. Every article of his rich attire was taken off; his magnificent velvet robe was carefully folded and laid in a trunk which stood open near by, his white shirt, with its big diamond buttons and studs, his gilded slippers, his silken hose, his velvet trousers were all removed, leaving him in the usual native underdress; every ring and bracelet and chain were laid away in the trunk. A simple white muslin cloth was thrown over him, and with bare feet he advanced to the middle of the room, where a space had been kept clear, and sat down on his heels before a small burning lamp. The father of the bride, having also thrown aside his gay clothes, sat by him, while several priests clustered near. It would be impossible to describe all the ceremonies that were performed, the priests blessing seeds and powders and bits of sticks, and passing them back and forth, sometimes putting them into the hands of the bridegroom, sometimes into those of the father, and sometimes again into the flame of the lamp. We could not understand what it all meant.
"All the while the bands were playing and servants were passing refreshments and buttonhole bouquets or garlands to each of the guests. No bride had as yet been seen, but presently the groom was led from the room, and we were told he had gone to seek his bride. In about a half hour the pair returned hand in hand, and we looked eagerly at the little bride, this dear girl of eight years. The small toes were so covered with heavy rings that she could not step properly, but was235forced to walk on her heels. She was simply dressed in a scarlet silk sarree, as the woman's one garment is called, her hair done up in a knot behind. She looked timid and frightened. Just think of that child alone amid that multitude, not even her mother by her side—one little baby girl among a thousand men. The composure was astonishing. She was seated on her heels, of course, opposite her boyish lover, with the lamp between them, and the same sort of proceedings as before were continued. She must have grown very weary before the long ceremony was finished.
"Finally the oldest priest took her hand and laid it on that of the boy, and tied them together with silken cords and chains of gold. It was a beautiful thing, but I never can forget my feelings as I saw that baby hand, that tiny, dimpled, pretty hand, extended to be tied fast and forever to a boy she had never seen before, and at an age when she ought to be in a mother's loving, tender care. It was an interesting sight, but, oh, so sad! After a while their dresses were tied together at the corners, some more rupees were passed about—there seemed to be a great abundance of them—some were tied up in their robes, different headdresses were tried on the pair, glittering, spangled things; new garments were blessed by the priests and thrown over them, and at last the long, long ceremony was over, and the married children disappeared. This event is the end of that girl's childhood. She is a woman now—all freedom is over to her—entered into the zenana a wife, her future life is shut up within its high walls."—Christian at Work.
TOM'S VICTORY.
By Angel of Peace
"THAT Ned Lane," said Tom Bixby, doubling up his fist and stamping his feet, "is a mean, spiteful, wicked boy. I wish he was dead, I do."
Then Tom broke down and fairly burst into tears. His mother, who had heard his angry words, came out into the garden to see what had caused them. She too was indignant at what she saw. There was Tom's pet doggie, Fawn, stretched out stiff and cold on the grass. Around his neck a string was tied, from which dangled a card. On it these words were written, in a scraggly, blotted hand:—
"He'll never chase my chickens no more.
NED LANE."
"O mother," cried Tom, "look at poor Fawn! See what that cruel Ned has done. Oh, how I hate him! I'll be revenged."
Fawn had been a favorite with all the Bixby family, and, in spite of the fact that he would pursue chickens and tear the dresses of passing ladies, or catch and hide away stockings and handkerchiefs when they were laid upon the grass to bleach, Mrs. Bixby had borne with him. She had hoped that his youthful faults would be cured in time. She knew that Ned Lane had been made very angry because of the loss of two rare fowls which Fawn had shaken and torn to pieces, and she felt that Fawn had been a great annoyance to the neighbors,—a great transgressor. But what to do with Ned was a question, for Tom's heart was almost broken.
"Tom," she said, "you say you hate Ned. Do you wish what I heard you say just now,—to be really revenged?"
"Yes, mother; I want to see him suffer. I wish all his chickens were gone."
"Ned has done a cruel deed, and I do not wonder that you are very deeply grieved; but, my son, 'he that hateth his brother is a murderer.'"
"He's not my brother."
"In one sense he is. Yet I am sure you do not mean that you would really like to see him dead and cold like your dog. If you think of the meaning of your words, I am sure you wish him no such ill. I think there is a way by which you can make him very sorry for this, and yet keep your own self-respect."
The gentle words won their way to Tom's heart. He sat down by his mother, and she passed her soft hand over his hot brow and soothed him tenderly. Then she gave her plan for being "quits," as he called it, with Ned, and getting the victory.
The next day when Ned Lane met Tom Bixby on his way to school, he was rather mortified to hear nothing about Fawn. He was prepared to defend himself if attacked, but Tom passed on in silence. He tried to say, "Hello, Ned!" but failed in the attempt. All the morning, however, when the boys were in their classes together, Tom looked and acted as usual, and at recess he engaged heartily in games with the other boys.
When Ned, feeling more and more uncomfortable, went home to dinner, a surprise awaited him. A superb pair of Brahmapootra fowls had arrived, with a string and a card attached:—
"For those my poor Fawn chased.
TOM BIXBY."
FAITH AND SIGHT.
By Elizabeth Akers
BY ELIZABETH AKERS.
If the Great Ruler of the worlds should be
Moved to descend from his eternal place,
To veil the awful splendor of his face
And lay aside invisibility,
So that our feeble eyes unblindedly
Might bear the softened glory, by his grace—
How gladly should we hasten to embrace
The privilege of worship at his knee!
From every corner of earth's peopled space,
From every island shouldered by the sea,
How would all souls, of every clime and race,
Gather to pour strong prayer and tremulous plea,
Unuttered now, because we cannot trace
The way to him, and lack the faith to see!
—The Independent.
A VIRGIN MISSION FIELD.
By J. N. Cushing, D.D.
BY J. N. CUSHING, D.D.
[Missionary of the American Baptist Missionary Union.]
NORTHEAST of the Salwen River, toward the borders of Western China, is a remote mountainous district, of which strange reports have come from time to time. It has been a terra incognita not only to foreigners but to all the surrounding native races. Good reasons have existed for this, not only in the fact that this district lies a long distance from the ordinary routes of trade and travel, but also in the peculiar characteristics of the inhabitants themselves. In 1870, during my journey to Kwangtung, I saw men from the southeastern borders of this district, but they were considered harmless, having been brought under the rule of the Sawbwa of Kwangtung. This people is called the Wa tribe. With the exception of a Burman army, once sent to conquer this district and work its gold mines, no outsiders were ever known to have visited the territory of this people until, toward the close of last year, Mr. J. G. Scott, the superintendent of the Northern Shan States, went there with a small military force.
The Burman army was cut off to a man; but the English force came back unscathed, and his report is intensely interesting.
The manners and customs of the Was are quite unlike those of the general run of human beings. They are a people without the most elementary notions of decency or propriety of any kind. They habitually practice the most savage customs, being unable to sow a field without cutting off someone's head and offering it to appease the unseen powers. They are a race of drunkards and opium eaters, and extraordinarily filthy in their habits. Yet, after all, these people are not exactly savages, for they cultivate fields, live in permanent houses, and show unusual ingenuity and skill in their fortifications. Some extracts from Mr. Scott's report may be interesting, although the people must be a distinctly unpleasant people to get along with.
They are not ferocious, but they cannot sow a field of peas without cutting off the head of somebody as an offering to the spirits to allow the crops to grow well. They are not often degraded, and yet the clothes that they wear might be dispensed with without great loss of decency. They are exceedingly diligent cultivators, but they are very occasionally sober. They bring water with a good deal of skill from long distances by means of bamboo aqueducts, into the interior of their villages, but the water seems to be used for little else than making liquor.
The state of dirt of both men and women is absolutely beyond belief, and it is only limited by the point beyond which extraneous matter refuses to adhere to human flesh.
Passing over an interesting description of the situation and ingenious fortification of the Wa villages, to some of which is there any way of entrance except by a long tunnel from fifty to one hundred feet in length, of the cultivation and use of opium, and the universal manufacture of liquor, with its consequent almost perpetual drunkenness, we come to a description of that which gives to this people of Burma the name of the "Head Hunters of Burma." He says:—
Outside every village, but not apparently at any special point of the compass, is the Ong Gru Pangkan, the avenue of skulls. These groves are conspicuous from long distances. They consist of strips of primeval jungle, huge forest trees left standing where all the remaining country has been cleared for cultivation. The undergrowth is rank, and these avenues are usually, but not always, in deep shade. There are rows of posts all in one line, and not on both sides of the path, decked with human skulls. A niche is cut in the back of the post, with a ledge on which the skull can rest. There is a round hole in front, through which sometimes only the teeth and empty eye sockets, sometimes the whole skull, grins horribly, a ghastly smile. The number of skulls run as high as a hundred.
The source of supply for this hideous practice is found in the neighboring Shan or Lem districts. But the Was often make raids on one another's villages, and sometimes, even, a victim is taken from among the old people of the village itself, as this class is no longer of service in daily work.
It is to be hoped that the Was will be gradually brought to abandon their ferocious practice of head cutting. Doubtless in due time the power of the British Government will be felt upon them; but for the present their distance from all usual routes of travel, and their almost entire lack of intercourse with outside communities, will prevent any immediate action. They are certainly a strangely degraded race, and no other people could need the gospel more than they do.—The Independent.
POPULATION IN INDIA.
The Indian Churchman remarks upon some curious facts disclosed by the census of India, which were recently commented upon in a paper read before the Royal Statistical Society by Mr. J. H. Baines, the subject of which was "Distribution and Movement of Population in India." The Indian Churchman says:—
"While in England 53 per cent. of the population live in towns of over 20,000 inhabitants, in India only 4 3/4 per cent. do so. Thus it is evident that there is as yet here no 'rural exodus,' and it is for the good of the country that it should be so. Still more interesting is the fact that only 4 per cent. were found to have quitted the district where they were born, or its immediate neighborhood; and this is a fact of far less encouragement, for the recurring danger of famine can only be avoided by the transference of the population from the overcrowded districts, such as Bengal, to the thinly-populated ones, such as Assam. The small number who do leave their homes are either indigenous tribes (like the Kols of Chota Nagpur) who have not yet been infected with Hindu caste superstitions, or Christians who have risen above them; and since it is impossible for them to go back to the former state, the solution of the difficulty would seem to lie in their going forward to the latter. Quite recently a Christian colony of Santhals has been established by a C. M. S. missionary at the foot of the Himalayas; had these men been Hindus, they would have refused to leave their homes."
THE SPANISH PEOPLE.
READER, what do you owe them? What are their claims upon you, who have the light of present truth? Jesus says, "Ye are the light of the world." To whom is he speaking?—To his disciples. Reader, are you one of his? If so, it means you, only change the pronoun to me as you read it.
Now James says, "The word is able to save your souls," that is, life. Christ says, "God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world might live by means of him." John 3:17 (Murdock's Syriac). "I am the light [life] of the world; he that followeth me" "shall have the light of life." In John 1:4 we read, "In him was life, and the life was the light of men." And that light the Lord designs shall shine through his people. Here is your commission: "Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, . . . to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you." Matt. 28: 19, 20. Now the Spanish people are a part of the nations of the world; and since you are commanded to go to them, and you do not go, do you not see that you are responsible (by keeping from them the means of salvation) for their lives, and really become by this transgressors of God's law?
Now in Mexico alone there are over two hundred and sixty cities with populations ranging from 2,000 to 50,000 each, four with over 50,000, and one with 91,685. Then there are smaller cities and villages and the country. In all of these they call for the "Light of the world."
To meet and answer this call you can now get from the Pacific Press Publishing Co., Oakland, Cal., the following tracts in the Spanish language: "Living by Faith," a translation of Bible Students' Library No. 75; "Righteousness," a translation of Bible Students' Library No. 71; "Inheritance of the Saints," and the "Angels of God"—each of which is a collection of seven Bible readings on different subjects, and a 4-page leaflet, "This Rock, or the Foundation of the Church," a translation of which appeared in the SIGNS OF THE TIMES of Jan. 22, 1894, page 182. Orders for any of the above will be promptly filled.
SCIENCE in the KITCHEN
By Mrs. E. E. Kellogg
By MRS. E. E. KELLOGG, A. M.,
Superintendent of the Sanitarium School of Cookery and of the Bay View Assembly School of Cookery, and Chairman of the World's Fair Committee on Food Supplies for Michigan.
A scientific treatise on food substances and their dietetic properties, together with a practical explanation of the principles of healthful cookery, and a large number of original, palatable and wholesome recipes.
AGENTS WANTED. Send $1.25 for outfit, giving choice of territory.
THERE have been many attempts to reform Hinduism from within, both on the religious and social side, but one after another the attempts end in failure. In certain sections of Hindu society strenuous efforts have been made to create a public opinion against the bane of early marriages, and one prominent reformer, Mr. Justice Telang, a judge of the High Court, Bombay, incurred no small measure of odium by the vigor with which he advocated this reform. But when the moment came for withstanding the dominating influence of Hindu tradition in his own family, the reformer succumbed and gave his child daughter of eight years in marriage. It is obvious that no reform can be trusted which does not rest on faith in God. The faith which sees God's truth and stands in his will is the only conquering force in the reformation of society. Hinduism needs not reformation but regeneration.—Missionary Record.
FROM THE SOUTH SEAS.
By Editor
A LETTER from Brother J. R. McCoy, bearing date of December 21, written from Melbourne, Australia, to Brother C. H. Jones, of this office, contains some news which we believe will be of interest to our readers. He says that the camp meeting at Wellington was very successful, eleven persons being baptized. At the time he wrote the Pitcairn expected to sail from Wellington to America on December 25. When his work in Australia is done, he expects to sail for America, reaching San Francisco before the Pitcairn.
He writes that, from letters he has received since reaching Melbourne, he learns that God is greatly blessing on the island of Norfolk. He incloses copies of letters from various ones. Three of the letters which Brother McCoy incloses are from the island of Pitcairn,—one from Sister Hattie Andre, one from Brother McCoy's daughter Ella, and a third from his wife. These, or extracts from them, will be given next week.
One of the three letters from Norfolk Island is from Brother Cole to Brother White, under date of November 23, 1893. Some of the most interesting items in this follow. He says that he is working in a Methodist Episcopal Church, but the people are not really Methodists; they believe as we do in many things, especially as regards the coming of the Lord and the work of grace in the heart. They have no preacher now, but there are eight elders among them who preach some, and with a simplicity that would draw one to them. Their prayer meetings, he says, are very much like our own good prayer meetings.
He says that all these elders have a very tender feeling toward us, and the one who was a short time ago very much against our work there, was more anxious than the others for him to take charge of the meetings. He speaks almost every Sunday night, and the church is always well filled with people from both churches. Some attend from the English Church who would never go inside the M. E. Church before. It has been their custom after services to call upon backsliders and sinners to go forward for prayers and give their hearts to God, and he says "up to the time of writing this about ten have given their heart to God, and, in visits and conversation with them since, we are much pleased with the progress which they are making, and to know from God's word that their sins are forgiven."
He is assisting in their Sunday school and also has a class every Sabbath afternoon. "Our meetings on the Sabbath," he writes, "were very small at first, but one after another kept dropping in until our room is quite crowded, and many are very much interested. The organist told Sister Mary McCoy that she could hardly wait for the Sabbath to come around." He has been holding young people's meetings, which had proved very interesting and profitable. He has been offered the parsonage to live in, but thinks it best to remain where he is until he sees further developments.
And yet he is meeting opposition on the island. As people began to attend these meetings on the Sabbath, a lawn-tennis club was organized to call people's attention from it, and the people even begged Sister McCoy to join it. Since he started the young people's meeting, the minister in the other church has started one too.
Brother Cole has good help in Brother Nobbs, the schoolteacher on the island. As an evidence of the universal Sunday persecuting spirit, this little item from his letter will be of interest: "One of Brother Nobbs' daughters was married one day last week. We, with many others, were invited to the wedding dinner. While there I noticed the minister talking very earnestly with the chief magistrate, but thought little of it at the time. The wedding was on Tuesday, and to be ready Brother Nobbs' family did some cooking on Sunday. Now would you be surprised to learn they have him in court for it? The trial has not come off yet, but it will soon. Now Sunday is a day when the Norfolk people cook and feast, but they say there is this difference, 'We cook for the day, but he cooked for days to come.' If they can make an example of Brother Nobbs, they think they will frighten others who are not so strong, from starting out to keep the Sabbath. He will not pay the fine, but says he will willingly go to jail if it comes to that. The court was appointed for Friday evening, when they knew he would not go. For some reason it has not come off yet. We can see plainly that something is to be done, and that right early. We are not discouraged; but seek God daily for his guidance, and thank him for the privilege of being on Norfolk, for we believe that is where he wants us to be."
The other letter from Norfolk is from Mary Ann McCoy, a sister of Brother J. R. McCoy. She says: "Brother Cole's very humble way with his preaching is having a good influence. They found out that he is feeding their souls with the bread of life, the pure word of God. I think that he is the right man for this place. The work is of a most encouraging nature. Brother Cole preaches in the Methodist Church every Sunday night and once or twice a week, and will also hold meetings in the country. He has already organized a young people's meeting at 5 o'clock Sunday afternoon. Several of the young people have gone forward under conviction and express their desire to be saved. At the Long House the room where our Sabbath meetings are held is always crowded. Sometimes it will scarcely hold all who come to the preaching. The little children flock into the Sabbath school, which began October 7. Brother Cole has all the adults, Sister Cole the little ones, and I have the young people. They are so interested in the Sabbath school. They like the Bible lessons better than their catechisms, and our way of illustrating the lessons is quite different from their method of teaching."
Sister McCoy also speaks of the efforts that are being made to turn the people away from the meetings, and to induce her to join the lawn-tennis club, which was organized to meet every Sabbath to play. They have offered the parsonage to Brother and Sister Cole, but he thinks it best to stay where they are for the present. The people are learning truths that they never heard before. Sister McCoy also speaks of the Sunday prosecution against Brother Alfred Nobbs. Several years ago the school was taken from Alfred Nobbs because he would not teach the catechism in the school. But as they could find no one to take his place, they restored him, sending the chaplain every week to teach the catechism for him. He objected to that part of the catechism which treats of infant baptism, which says: "In my baptism I was made a member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven."
We rejoice with our dear laborers on Norfolk Island that God is blessing them in their work, and are thankful to Brother McCoy for furnishing us with this news. We hope that God may be with his servant and sustain him when the fearful news reaches him of the loss of his wife and daughter, the former of whom died the 26th of August, and the latter the 3d of September. But he had not heard of it at the time of writing, in the last part of December. We hope he will have the prayers of our people.