Earlier text: A Review of Sunday Legislation in Century NineteenWITH these words our Lord sought to cheer the sad hearts of his disciples. He had just announced that one of them would betray him, and that all of them would forsake him, while the cruel and shameful cross loomed up distinctly in his view. Seeing their look of sorrow and surprise, he said, as if forgetful of his own approaching agony: "Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you." He could not deceive nor mislead them, nor withhold the exact truth, nor keep them in ignorance of his precise meaning. "I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also." John 14: 1-3. The consolation he imparts turns upon the promise, "I will come again," or, rather, "I come again," or, better still, "I am coming again," like a father calling to his frightened children, "I am coming," and so quieting their fears. But Satan is a cunning rogue, and he has robbed nearly all Christians of the comfort these words were designed to give, by leading them to suppose that when the Saviour said, "I am coming," he really intended to say, "You must die." . . . The only question is, Did our Saviour wish the disciples to understand that he is literally and personally coming again, or did he teach them and us that we must die? 1. When we read his wonderful words, it is wise to infer that he used language correctly; that he knew what he purposed to say, and, hence, that we are to take his statements in their natural and obvious sense, unless it is apparent at a glance that they are figurative or symbolical. It is a sound and incontrovertible principle of exposition which "the judicious Hooker" lays down when he says; "I hold it as a most infallible rule in the interpretation of sacred Scripture that where a literal construction will stand, the furthest from the letter is commonly the worst." It was as easy for our Lord to say, "If I go away you shall die," or, "You will join me soon in my Father's house," as it was to say, "I am coming again;" and it is certain that he said what he meant and meant what he said. . . . 2. Our Lord was not unfamiliar with the word "death." He often spoke of his own death; and not long after he said to the disciples, "I am coming," he plainly told Peter that he must die. "This spake he, signifying by what death he should glorify God." John 21:19. Why the change? Why did he not inform the others that they, too, must die? Why did he single out one for death, and address the remaining ten in language so entirely different, saying to them, "If I go and prepare a place for you, I am coming again"? Is it not clear that his coming again was unlike the dying of Peter, especially as Peter was one of the eleven who heard the promise, "I am coming again," and then afterwards learned that he was to die? 3. It is certain that he left a wrong impression upon their minds if by the promise of his coming again, he purposed to set forth the fact of their death, about which they needed no revelation, as the history of the world and their own observation taught them that "it is appointed unto men once to die." Heb. 9:27. If a beloved friend is about to leave a household at the close of a delightful visit, and, perceiving the sorrow caused by his announced departure, says to the circle mourning his expected absence, "I am coming again," and they subsequently learn that he only did under figurative language the truth that they must die, they would have very little respect for his candor, or very little confidence in the interpreters of his language who could put such a gloss upon the meaning of his words. . . . 5. It is often said that He is spiritually present with his people at death. This is certainly true, and it is equally true that he is spiritually present with them all the time. "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." Matt. 28:20. "For he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee." Heb. 13:5. There is no sense, therefore, in which he is spiritually present with believers at death differing from that in which40he is spiritually present before death; and the same chapter that contains the promise, "I am coming again," also contains the promise to the sinner who trusts him and keeps his word, that the Father and he "will come unto him, and make our abode with him." John 14:23. But this is not his coming again to receive us unto himself, and to abide where he is in the Father's house. 6. If his coming is death, then he comes again at the death of unbelievers and the ungodly, for they, too, die. Think of the Lord coming again every time the unsaved and the wicked die, that is, every second of time, and it will be easy to see what confusion and nonsense such exegesis makes of one of the most blessed promises of the word of God. . Is the promise, "I am coming," fulfilled every time an ungodly man dies? Why not if the coming of Christ means death? 7. But our Lord himself clearly shows that his coming and death do not mean the same thing. He predicted Peter's death, and then directed the apostle to follow him. John, unbidden, but drawn by the cords of love, also started to follow, and Peter said, "Lord, and what shall this man do? Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou me. Then went this saying abroad among the brethren, that that disciple should not die; yet Jesus said not unto him, He shall not die; but, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?" John 21: 22, 23. So far is it, therefore, from the truth that the coming of the Lord and death are the same that they are directly opposed to each other. The coming of the Lord prevents death. Nor can his coming mean the descent of the Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost, nor the destruction of Jerusalem, nor any providential occurrence, because in neither of these events did he, nor does he, receive the disciples to himself. It is quite common to say that there have been a great many comings of Christ, all pointing to his final and literal coming, and in this way his promise is divested of all power and sweetness. There are 7,959 verses in the New Testament, and of these 330, or one in twenty-five, directly refer to his second coming, nor is there any subject but faith that is mentioned more frequently. In all of these verses, without a single exception, his coming means his coming, and nothing else; and we are no more at liberty to give to the word some other import than we are to change the significance of the statement, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." ECHOES FROM THE PARLIAMENT OF RELIGIONS.
By Editor
THERE is probably no occurrence of this century which will have a greater effect on the future of the religious world than the recent Parliament of Religions held in connection with the World's Fair at Chicago. That its effect will be beneficial the great mass of the people believe; but that it marks an advance stage in the malady which now afflicts Christendom is also believed by many thoughtful men scattered through all denominations. It is distinctly a compromise on the part of Protestantism, and this must be evident to every candid mind who will compare the spirit, the utterances, and the personnel of that gathering with the Protestantism of the Reformation and the teachings of the New Testament. But many of our religious journals, sad to remark, approve of the parliament. Of this we shall have more to say hereafter. Below are some of the characteristic utterances (the Italics are ours):— For ourselves we desire to express our gratitude to Dr. Barrows and Mr. Bonney for giving the world this Parliament of Religions.—The Congregationalist. It will give the Christian people a wider outlook upon the world of religious thought, and will tend to strengthen the bonds of human brotherhood.—Buffalo Christian Advocate. Many addresses have been made by prominent clergymen and advocates of several faiths, and with one or two exceptions the harmony of the gathering is remarkable.—St. Louis Christian Advocate. There never before has been on so broad a scale so signal an exhibition of the essential brotherhood of all men. If anyone object to thinking of it as a "brotherhood of religions," it has at all events been an impressive manifestation of the peculiar kinship that belongs to all deeply and devoutly thoughtful religious men of every nationality and clime, speech or race.—The Advance. The most significant religious event of the century is marked by the spirit of sobriety, of charity, of reverence, and of loyalty to the truth. It was possible to sneer at its proposals. One who fears God and loves his fellow-men must rejoice at its achievement.—The Examiner. All together they constitute the greatest religious gathering the world has ever seen. Too much cannot be said in praise of President C. C. Bonney and Chairman Dr. John H. Barrows for their titanic and successful labors in preparing this "more than imperial feast."—Central Christian Advocate. The scene presented upon this platform is one that every beholder will carry with him through life. Its cosmopolitan and unique character may be accepted as symbolic of a new period of civilization, when all the nations of the world shall be as one.—Methodist Recorder. This is the platform of the parliament—the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. Fortunately, the rules of the parliament preclude discussion, but the greatest benefit will result from comparison of creeds and systems.—Zion's Herald. The first world's Parliament of Religions will prove, we believe, a mighty factor in the winning of religious thought the world over, in the gathering of truth and the scattering of error, thus aiding in bringing about the great consummation—the union of God and man, of heaven and earth.—Union Signal. It is only by way of our sense of shame that Christianity will be honored and magnified by this parliament. If Dr. Momerie's brilliant epigram, "All religions are fundamentally more or less true, and all religions are superficially more or less false," needs to be taken, like most epigrams, with some qualifications, it is none the less true that we are learning from this parliament that our religion cannot be the perfect manifestation of the relations of God and men, the flawless sphere of truth, until it includes the Orient as well as the Occident.—New York Evangelist. The first effect of this Parliament of Religions must be to correct the opinion too often entertained, and sometimes even sedulously cultivated, that all forms of religion but our own are but a mixture of ignorance and superstition. There is as little ground for the Christian charge that all foreign priests are self-seekers, as for the analogous Protestant charge against all Roman Catholic priests, or for the similar infidel charge against all Christian ministers. The ecclesiastic's coat is no sure preventive against selfishness; the ecclesiastical spectacles are no guarantee of the truth. But whatever other impression the various speakers at the Parliament of Religions may have left on the minds of their audiences, there is no doubt that they left one of profound spiritual earnestness.—The Outlook. REMEMBER that the mind of your child is like a mirror, reflecting all around it. The wanton oath, the angry exclamation, the obscene jest, may operate upon the young heart like the careless drop of water on the polished steel, leaving a rust which no after cleansing can wholly efface. Stonewall Jackson, when once using the phrase "instant in prayer," was asked what he meant by it. "I have so fixed the habit in my own mind," he replied, "that I never raise a glass of water to my lips without a moment asking God's blessing; I never seal a letter without putting a prayer under the seal; I never take a letter from the post without a brief sending of my thought heavenward; I never change my classes in the lecture room without a minute's petition on the cadets who go out and those who come in." "And don't you sometimes forget to do this?" "I can scarcely say that I do," was the answer; "the habit has become as fixed almost as breathing."—Selected. An Eastern contemporary of recent date contains a lengthy and interesting communication from a subscriber, who details, with great particularity, how he was, as he expressed it, "taken in" at a church fair. Having been invited to this entertainment, he concluded, although a man of limited means, that he could afford to go, the twenty-five cents admission fee seeming, in his untutored opinion, to cover the entire expense of the entertainment. He dressed himself in his best, paid the fee at the door, and went in. Immediately after his entrance he was approached by a young lady with a number of tickets in her hands, and he was solicited to "take a chance" in a raffle for a cabinet organ, the chances being $1.00 each. As the young lady was a personal acquaintance, belonging to the same church as himself, he felt, he said, ashamed to refuse, although he would gladly have declined, scarcely feeling able to make the expenditure. The chance was taken and paid for, and a moment later a couple of girls carrying a flower basket importuned him to buy a buttonhole boquet. Again was he coerced, and fifty cents was extracted from his unwilling pocket for an article which he declared he felt ashamed to wear. Escaping from the flower girls he ran into the arms, metaphorically speaking, of course, of two young ladies, who hinted that refreshments were in order. He went with them, and, duly "refreshed," then tendered the cashier, in payment of a seventy-five cent check, a $2.00 bill. The lady placed the bill in a drawer, and turned her attention to the next customer, whereupon he ventured to remind her that she had forgotten the change. "We give no change," was the cool rejoinder, and the unfortunate youth, with such comfort as this bit of information afforded, retired. At this point he would fain have gotten out, but this was only the beginning. He seems to have been recognized as a good subject, and passed from one set of schemers to another, only to find that each was intent solely on extracting from his pocketbook the last possible cent. He finally did escape, but only after expending, as he says, the sum of $16.25, or a little over half of the monthly salary which he had that day received. It is safe to say that this much-be-leaguered young man will not soon again darken the doors of a church festival, and his experience may serve as a warning to more than one of his acquaintances who might possibly be tempted to give encouragement, under the name of charity, to similar enterprises.—Selected. MEANING IN A NAME.
By Elliott C. Chapman
SINCE the time when the great Creator of all breathed into man's nostrils the breath of life, and gave to the masterpiece of his handiwork the name of Adam—which is said to signify red earth, probably referring to the dust from which he was created—it has been the custom to a great extent among the children of men to give to their offspring names which bear in themselves a depth of meaning. Abraham, Isaac, and Israel were given names by the Creator which were well suited to their characters and positions. Samuel means "asked of God;" Solomon, "the peaceful one;" and thus we find an undercurrent of interest attached to many of the Scripture names. Among the heathen nations of Assyria and Babylon the same custom prevailed as among the chosen people of God, of giving their children names which bore such meaning as the force of circumstances or the fancy of the parents should indicate. Daniel signified in the Hebrew, "God is my judge;" Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah each were names that had reference to the true God. These were changed, when the men were taken to the court of Babylon, to have reference to the gods of the heathen. In our own day, among the civilized nations of the world, we do not see much of this style of naming, but people in general are content with some sound that serves the purpose just as well, and has perhaps been worn by some worthy of the past. The American Indians were wont to name their braves according to their idea of what is noble, and such terms as Hawk-eye and Lightfoot appear within the pages of their history. Since coming to Tahiti we have been interested to observe the peculiar custom of the people here in this respect, and I have collected a lot of names which are odd because of their simplicity. Our Brother Paul Dean has ten names by which he is known in different districts. He has a family name of Teinaore, which means "brother none;" this was given him because a younger brother died. Again somebody lost a child and honored him with a name which means "taken away," and by this name he is forever called by the people of that neighborhood. Pomare, "cough in the night," was the name of the old chief of Tahiti. Old Grandma Deane is called Aivi, "hill," because a grandchild was buried on a hill. Queen Pomare IV. was called Huaopo, meaning "lame in the thigh." One of Henry Deane's daughters was named after a "pain in the back," while one of the Arue people is called "bad disease." Still another of the royal family is named "eaten eyes." These names amount to little, and are soon to pass away, but there is a new name that is to be given to all overcomers by our Lord and Master, that will abide forever, for he says, "I will write upon him my new name." Rev. 3:12. Let us all make sure of being among the happy company who "shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads." Rev. 22:4. "AN UNEXPECTED PRIZE."
By Mrs. F. A. Reynolds
CHAPTER VIII.—MORE LESSONS.
"Dear me, mamma!" cried Hope, coming in from school one day, "it does seem to me that things have happened just to illustrate the ten commandments since we began to study them. Doesn't it seem so to you?" "Now I was thinking only this morning of what we had seen and heard, and I said to myself, 'Well, I haven't heard the third commandment broken.' Of course I've heard what I call swearing, but not a real taking the name of God in vain. Just a few minutes afterwards I heard a man using most awful oaths because his team balked. Now, isn't it odd that so much should happen in just a few weeks?" "I think," said Mrs. Manton, "that these happenings, as you call them, are around us all the time, but your attention was never before called to the fact that God's law is being constantly broken. You know your observations have not been in the order of the commandments, you have seen first one and then another violation, just as events have occurred." "Well, perhaps that's so," assented Hope as she hung up her hat, "but about swearing, mamma, do you think those only are breaking the third commandment that take God's name in vain, or do you think all of this bad, rough language breaks it, too?" "Applying Christ's test to it, I should say that bad language that is used under the same circumstances that oaths are used,—in anger, under strong excitement, or even as a habit,—is breaking the third commandment," said her mother. "I am aware that men who use this rough language will not acknowledge they swear, but many of the words they use are well understood to mean the same as taking God's name in vain in a modified form." "Christ said, 'Let your communications be Yea, yea, and Nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than this cometh of evil.' Bywords are silly and useless, and some of them wicked. Plain, straightforward language is the most forcible." "Well," said Hope, blushing, "I do say 'mercy,' 'goodness,' 'gracious,' etc." "And don't you see," said her mother, "those very words describe attributes of God, and are very improper words to use in such a trivial fashion?" "I never did think of it before," said Hope, "but I mean to break myself of the habit as soon as I can." Hope took her schoolbooks to a table to prepare her lessons, but uttered almost immediately an exclamation of impatience. Mrs. Manton looked up reprovingly. "I forgot, mamma, but I was so provoked." "Why, we are getting up a present for Miss Carleton, you know. She is to be married soon, and go West, and we hoped to give her something handsome. All of the class did real well except Gertrude Fletcher, and she was so mean, she wouldn't give a penny. We needed only $2.00 to get just what we wanted, but the rest of us had all given all we could, so we had to get a less expensive present. Don't you think it was a shame?" "I am sorry you were disappointed, but what you have got will no doubt express your appreciation as well as a more costly gift." "But it was so mean in Gertrude not to give. She is the proudest girl in school, and when I asked her she said, in her most superior way, 'I should like to give Miss Carleton something, but I can't do it.' I had all I could do to keep from giving her my opinion of her. She dresses nicer than any of us, and she is a good scholar, and if she wasn't so stuck up, she would be a favorite." "Perhaps, my dear, you had better reserve your condemnation until you know more about her. There is danger that in your haste you may break the ninth commandment." " 'Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor,' " repeated Hope. "I thought that meant in court, mamma," she said wonderingly. "Does it make any difference where you give a false impression of your neighbor? In fact, doesn't neighborhood gossip do more to injure one than any false swearing in court? It would be kinder in you not to say anything against Gertrude even if you hear her to be stingy, but as you know nothing of her circumstances, you had better not even condemn her in your thoughts until you do know." "Why, mamma, she lives in that large, beautiful house next to Mrs. Stoughton, and she dresses so nicely." "They are strangers here," observed Mrs. Manton thoughtfully, "and I have never called. I ought to, and I will. You may go with me, if you wish, to-morrow evening." "All right, mamma," said Hope, "I shall like to go." So after school the next evening Mrs. Manton and Hope started to call on the Fletchers. Arrived at the house, they rang the bell, and a servant man showed them into an elegant little reception room, opening from a large, lofty hall. Hope gave her mother a meaning look, which said, "You see I was right; they are rich." In a short time the lady of the house made her appearance. She was a stately, handsome woman, richly and tastefully dressed, very cool and ceremonious in her manners. Mrs. Manton, however, was not at all overawed, and after a few minutes' chat said:— "My little girl would like to see your daughter, Miss Gertrude." Mrs. Fletcher hesitated, then said indifferently:— "Gertrude is not my daughter; she is Mr. Fletcher's brother's child, and when her father died she was brought here—against my desire, I must say"—and the lady's lips tightened disagreeably,10 "but Mr. Fletcher would have it so. He insists on dressing her well and sending her to school. She is a peculiar girl. She had no money, only about ten dollars a month, and she gives that to her brother to help him through college. Of course I didn't countenance it, and the consequence is she has no pocket money. Her clothes don't cost so very much, made over from mine, but I don't like anyone in the house in her position. Certainly, dear, I'll ring to have her sent down." Mrs. Fletcher touched a bell, and said to the servant who appeared, "Tell Miss Gertrude to come to me here." Soon a tall, slender girl of thirteen entered the room. She bowed to Hope, who rose, and, taking her hand, led her to her mother, saying, "This is my classmate, Gertrude Fletcher, mamma." Mrs. Manton met her cordially, and then Gertrude said:— "May I take Hope into the library, Aunt Kate?" "Yes, anywhere you please," returned Mrs. Fletcher. As the girls left the room, she added to Mrs. Manton:— "I can't repress a feeling of impatience in her presence. I never could bear her mother." Mrs. Manton hastily introduced a new topic of conversation, while she formed an inward resolution to try to be a true friend to this friendless, orphan girl. When she rose to go, the girls appeared in the hall from the room opposite, and she was pleased to see them apparently good friends. As they were walking home, Hope began, with trembling tones:— "I'll never judge from appearances again, mamma. That girl hasn't a friend. She is a dependent. She didn't complain, but I could see, after hearing Mrs. Fletcher talk. Supposing I had told everybody what I told you, what I believed to be true, it would have been—could it have been bearing false witness, mamma?" NOVEMBER.
By Marianne Farningham
Winds sighing drearily,
Rain beating eerily,
Fog in the city,
And mist on the sea;
Skies frowning scornfully,
Flowers dying mournfully,
These of November
Attendants must be. Fires that burn merrily,
Lips that smile cheerily,
Homes that are happy,
Love-lighted and fair,
Childhood's gay revelry,
Youth's singing gleefully,
Even November
With these is not bare. Dark places brightened,
And griefs that are lightened,
Wants that are satisfied,
Help for the sad,
Love made perpetual,
Pity all merciful—
Dullest November
By these is made glad. Hearts that in loneliness
Long for more holiness,
Loyalty, hope,
And a trust that makes calm,
Faith in God's Fatherhood,
Love for the brotherhood—
These change November
To music and psalm.
—Christian World. "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."—Proverbs. The fittest and most practicable place for the conquest of anger, selfishness, impatience, is a man's own home. Be a saint there; it does not matter so much what you are elsewhere.—P. C. Mozoomdar. What peculiar psychological fact is it that is responsible for our churlishness at home? Is the statement too sweeping? To be more exact, why do so many of us find it harder to be gentle and courteous to those at home than to the stranger we meet on the street, or the friend in his parlor? It is not because we love our own less than strangers. It is due, no doubt, principally to thoughtlessness. We are, as it were, a little off our guard, resting on our oars while at home, and a bit careless. But home is, or should be, the place of all places to us, the pivot upon which our lives revolve; and why should we be careless there? Our conduct at home is more than likely, it is almost certain, to be a true reflection of our personalities. We generally are really what those at home find us, and it is there we exert our greatest influence. We see our friends once or twice a week, perhaps, our family every day, and our influence for good or evil will tell in just that proportion. Then, again, our span of life is so brief at its longest that we have not time to be cross or selfish. Life is only just long enough to be pleasant in, and where better than in the home? The simplest little courtesies, "Good-night," "God guard the night," "Good-morning," "If you please," "Thank you," passing over one another's faults, and striving to always wear a cheerful countenance and say a kind word—these seem small matters, it may be, but, oh, how they brighten up the household! There is no lubricator that can set the domestic machinery running better and smoother than cheerfulness and unselfishness, while anger and impatience are the worst kind of rust on the wheels. A smile is an excellent specific for most household ills. These habits of self-control and thoughtfulness cultivated at home will soon become parts of our nature, and when we go out among men, we will wear them, not as a nosegay put on for the occasion, but as the very garment of our souls.—The Voice. INCIDENTS IN ALASKA LIFE.
By Editor
THE American Missionary Association established a mission at Cape Prince of Wales, Alaska, some time ago under the charge of Mr. H. R. Thornton. On the night of August 19 last Mr. Thornton was cruelly murdered by native desperadoes. Two of these the natives afterward killed, while the supposed instigator of the affair escaped to the mountains. The last named had been expelled from the school taught by Mr. Thornton. The following article from Mr. Thornton to the American Missionary will be of interest to those studying Alaskan life:— The year has passed tolerably well for us, notwithstanding some drawbacks that we hope will not affect us so much in future years. We had a new house in a new situation to get accustomed to. It was built of lumber that had been lying on the beach a year, and was thoroughly wet, consequently it shrunk so that before Christmas we could thrust a knife between the boards. We suffered very much with cold, used to sit up with all our furs on as if we were in a blizzard, but we soon retreated to the innermost room, which we managed to make quite comfortable by papering with newspaper and manilla paper.43You may imagine how trying it was to a very particular little New England housekeeper like Mrs. Thornton. At first I tied an old sack around the south side of the open work under the chimney cap, but it would persist in catching fire. An old five-gallon oil can with bottom and one side cut out clapped over the cap succeeded better, but I have to run up on the roof and turn it around every time the wind changes. Our natives are improving, but we find it a much slower and more laborious business than we expected to turn a savage Eskimo into a comparatively civilized Christian. Think how long it would take to make the very lowest class of people in your neighborhood clean, truthful, self-reliant, economical, virtuous, and God fearing. Meanwhile, we are sowing the seed with what patience we may, encouraged by seeing gradual improvement among the natives in intelligence, cleanliness, self-help, truthfulness, and other virtues that make toward godliness. After Mr. and Mrs. Lopp were married, we agreed to divide the house, they taking three rooms and we three,—a conclusion that all who know anything about attempts at combining two families in one domestic establishment will agree to have been wise and prudent. The kitchen and storeroom, already furnished with cupboards and shelves, fell to the Lopps' share, so I had to turn myself into a carpenter. Imagine my numerous works of art in that direction. I point with pride to a door cut in the attic, steps leading up to it; some fifty or sixty square feet of cupboard; numerous shelves; a cooler on the outside of the house communicating by a half door with the kitchen, where we keep our frozen meats in winter and fresh meats in summer; two bookcases made out of a redwood packing case; two lockers, with compartments for flour, meals, canned meats, fruits, and vegetables, as well as dried crackers, coffee, and other groceries; a closet for powder, lead, cloth, and other goods we have to barter our meats and fur clothes with; and a storm-house—not to speak of my efforts as a painter, solderer, locksmith, stove mender, etc. Housekeeping in the Arctic has its peculiar difficulties. Every drop of water must be melted from snow for seven months of the year, and we must thaw out our canned goods in winter before cooking. We ate our last potato January 31. We should not have had any after October if we had not obtained some from a wrecked vessel. On the other hand, there is no trouble about keeping meats fresh; after dressing ptarmagan we have them frozen and piled up like so many chips, in which condition they keep perfectly well for the whole winter, and we cut our bear or reindeer meat with a hatchet. If you think about these things carefully, you will see that mission work is not always easy and pleasant. We have not only the difficulties attending such work among the most ignorant and degraded whites, but also other difficulties due to our necessarily imperfect understanding of the language, habits, and character of the natives, and to their imperfect understanding of us. They demand unreasonable things of us, are sometimes offended if we do not comply, as, for instance, to furnish the whole community with matches, nails, boards, etc., when their lack of such things is generally due to their own lack of industry and forethought, or to interrupt us at our meals or in our sleep (if we would allow it) to trade with them for food, clothes, etc. However, we are training them to more civilized ways. March 25, as Mrs. Thornton and I were coming out of school about dark, we found a man trying to carry off by force one of our schoolgirls about sixteen years old, who had been sold to him by an older sister as a wife. I was strongly tempted to take her away by force, but desisted, as a crowd of men and women standing around had said the man was only asserting his legal rights according to native customs. The man dragged the weeping and struggling girl across the snow, took her up bodily, and dropped her down the entrance to his underground house. Finally it occurred to me to ransom her. In an hour Mr. Lopp and I had done this, and she was installed as Mr. Lopp's servant. Such occurrences are rare, but illustrate the need of our example and precepts. Mrs. Thornton has the honor of being probably the first American woman to drive behind a pair of half wild reindeer from the government herd fifty miles south of us. The deer are doing finely, and the enterprise should be encouraged in every way as the only means of saving the Eskimos from not improbable starvation.—American Missionary. "I WISH I had something to give away," said a dear little woman with a large heart and a very contracted purse, to me. "Try flowers," said I, "a little can of them, and you can be as generous as you please." Perhaps one of your neighbors has had to put on her pincushion, "Welcome, little stranger." Never mind if you do not know her very well; you may be assured she will appreciate even one flower. Again, there may be crape on the door, sad hearts within; cut your choicest flowers—they have a language of their own, and may be more comforting than words of sympathy. Is anything more lovely than sweet peas? They are made to give away, for the more you pick the more they come. Stand at the gate and give a bunch to the schoolchildren as they pass. Instead of saying to that strange rude boy, "Get off that fence!" or, "Don't swing on my gate!" give him a flower or perhaps a rooted slip. This little kindness may save you a very choice plant or a chance to taste your own rare fruit. Why not have a "give-away bed"? Geraniums, petunias, ageratums slip so easily, you wouldn't miss a dozen or two. As for seeds, they should not be kept any more than money. Better exchange, for it's funny, but true, plants like a new place. Haven't you noticed your petunias and asters from your own seeds are not as nice, but give them to the woman around the corner, and in her yard they will flourish mightily.—Vick's Magazine. A CERTAIN farmer, imagining that he would make money out of it, married him a wife. Then he caused her to do the cooking and washing for a half dozen hired hands. He also referred to her the small jobs, like cutting wood, milking the cows, herding the hogs, and tending the poultry. This farmer made money. But one of his boys went to Texas, and one went to the penitentiary, and his girl ran away with a man who peddled groceries. His useful wife has a front room in the insane asylum, and there is a place prepared for the farmer to which he will shortly go. This story plainly teaches that a farmer should be careful when he gets married.—Topeka Capital. RAISING BREAD.
By Harper's Bazaar
WHAT is meant by "raising" bread is worth a few words. The introduction of the yeast into the moist dough and the addition of heat when the pan is placed near the fire produce an enormous growth of the yeast fungi—the yeast "germ," in other words. These fungi effect a destructive fermentation of a portion of the starchy matter of the flour—one of the most valuable nutrient elements in the flour. The fermentation produces carbonic acid gas, and this, having its origin in every little particle of the starch, which is itself everywhere in the flour, pushes aside the particles of the dough to give itself room. That is what is called "raising the bread." A voice of noise from the city,
From its haunts of sin and pain,
The groan of a mighty multitude—
Oh! shall they plead in vain? A voice of the little children
Beginning their lifelong woe;
A voice from the lonely dying,
Not knowing where they go. Oh, silently appealing
Is the cry of that mighty throng,
That voice of noise from the city—
"How long, O Lord, how long?" A voice from the midst of the temple,
A voice of doubt and fear,—
"How long shall evil triumph?
O God, the Father, hear!" A voice of widespread error,
A voice of those that say,
"There should be wider entrance
To this too 'narrow way.'" A voice of the plenteous harvest
That few men go to reap,
Though the enemy's softly sowing,
Whilst the weary watchers sleep. So, through the lonely waiting
Of these years of care and wrong,
That ceaseless voice from the temple—
"How long, O Lord, how long?" A voice of the Lord that speaketh
To those who watch and wait;
Toil on a little longer,
His step is at the gate. See how the shadows lengthen
Athwart the evening sky;
Lift up your heads, O children!
Your redemption draweth nigh. And, through the unknown distance,
In an echo deep and strong,
Is the voice of the Lord proclaiming,
"I will not tarry long."
—Selected.