Earlier text: DID THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST AFFECT THE SABBATH?THIS world is filled with struggles and contentions. A varying scale of strife is everywhere seen. The world seems one vast battle field, filled with enmity between man and God, and never-ending strife between man and man. Strife in the family, strife between neighbors, strife between great political bodies and nations, has made the world a wilderness and taken peace and quietude from the earth. Back of all the strife of words and contentions of humanity lies strife in the heart (James 3:14), which simply means that man loves himself more than God and his fellow men. But God commands to "hate our own life," and to love our brother. Strife in the family is perhaps the sorest evil in the world; for if strife no longer appeared in the household, it would disappear from the neighborhood and altogether from the world. In the family especially the peace and quiet and repose which are so eagerly desired in this world, ought to be realized. Here the lines along which the children are to travel through life are marked out for them. If strife were a thing unknown in the family, if the children were not inured to it from infancy, how soon would the world present a new phase! How sad a thing it is that in almost every family in the world there is spiritual strife, resulting in strife of words, ill feelings, bodily strife, wounds, sickness, the breaking up of families, death! Now if the affections and thoughts ran in the same channel, if their spirits led in the same direction, lives would flow together as naturally as water. Why can it not be? Ah, it can be! There is this possibility within the reach of every family in the world. It lies in the hearty acceptance of Christ and the practical application of his every word in the life and works. For strife and variance will come so long as self-indulgence is at all allowed. To deny self is the only hope for the world. Until two spirits agree in a common standard, there cannot be oneness. It is a wonderment to many why there is more strife and ill feeling seen in Christian families at times than among the worldly minded. But there is legitimate reason for this. Every Christian who hungers and thirsts for righteousness knows that he is very imperfect. He is struggling to remodel his life and actions by the renewing of the mind and the renewing of his strength in God. The Spirit of God is striving with him. He cannot tolerate in himself what he once could. He cannot tolerate in his family what he once could. Among the worldly there is a corrupt harmony. None feels especially concerned. Wife and children tolerate the faults of the husband and father, and he tolerates and humors them. Quite commonly the lives show a great degree of harmony. But this kind of harmony is seen even among thieves and murderers. A common object is followed so intensely that their lives show almost perfect oneness. At other times and more commonly self seeks indulgence, the paths cross and recross, but they worry it through. Now the Christian feels it an imperative duty to come up to the God-given and perfect standard. A thing which to the worldly is passed by unnoticed, looks large in his eyes, and gives acute pain. He must see all these wrong ways corrected in himself and his household. As the Spirit of God strives with him so he must strive; but not as a worldly man, not to please himself. It gave Jeremiah no pleasure to be "a man of strife and a man of contention to the whole earth." Some persons among professed Christians are more willing to tolerate faults than to strive against them. This is the significance of the word. "Strive to enter into the strait gate." When self is all abolished, the Lord enthroned as father and king, and we accept the place of little children, and we eagerly follow our guide, Christ Jesus, the least crossing of his will becomes painful. Then will peace and quiet and fullness of joy and hope be experienced, and the grandest, loftiest expectations will finally be realized. THE TEST OF GREATNESS.
By Ruskin
I BELIEVE the test of a truly great man is his humility. I do not mean by humility doubt of his own power, or hesitation in speaking his opinions, but a right understanding of the relation between what he can do and say and the rest of the world’s doings and sayings. All great men not only know their own business, but usually know that they633 know it, and are not only right in their main opinions, but usually know that they are, only they do not think much of themselves on that account. They do not expect their fellow men to fall down and worship them; they have a curious under-sense of powerlessness, feeling that the greatness is not in them, but through them; that they could not do or be anything else than God made them. And they see something divine and God-made in every other man they meet, and are endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful. They do their work, feeling that they cannot well help it; the story must be told, the effect put down; if people like it, well and good; and if not, the world will not be much the worse.—Ruskin. "I REMEMBER," said the doctor's wife, "the day that Jane Marshal first came to school. There were about ten of us, and we were like other girls, and we thought we never could endure it when it leaked out that Mrs. Vance was going to take a poor clergyman's orphan, to prepare for teaching. "Betty Kenneth declared she would never see her; she 'would pass her as though she were a blank wall,' which we thought a fine revenge on the girl for being poor. We all resolved to do the same. "But when the day came, Mrs. Vance led in a thin little cripple, with an appealing face and a hump on her back. " 'This is Jenny Marshal,' she said. There was a moment's pause, and then Betty marched straight up to her and kissed her, and we all followed her. Mrs. Vance looked surprised and pleased, but she soon led the new scholar out. " 'I can't make war on a cripple,' said the roughest girl in the class. "Betty's face was red, and she spoke vehemently. 'I know what we will do. She thinks of her deformity all of the time; I see it in her face. We must make her forget it. Do you hear, girls? It's a little thing for us to do—make her forget it.' "If a teacher had told us to do this we should probably have disobeyed her; but Betty was the wildest among us. We were ready to follow her. "We all went to work. We took Jenny into all our sets; we told her all our secrets. Not a word or a look ever touched on her deformity or that there was any difference between us. "If she had been a whining girl, our good intentions might have been thrown away; but she was an affectionate little soul, ready to laugh at all our jokes. I fancy she was little used to jokes or fun. People had kept that terrible hump in her mind always as though that was to be the chief thing in life for her. "She was not clever at her books, but Betty found out that she could embroider exquisitely. Then we asked Mrs. Vance to offer a prize for needlework, and Jenny of course took it. "She had a voice fine and tender as a lark's, and Betty always contrived that people who could understand it should hear her sing. I have seen old men come to her with their eyes wet with tears and thank her for her songs. "What was the end of it? Oh, it was not like a story, with some blessing at the close! It was a severe winter, and several of the girls had colds, two of them pneumonia. Jenny was one. She was not strong enough to fight against it. She was the only one who died. "Yes, her poor little story came to a sudden end. We all saw her on that last day. Betty even whispered to her a great secret. 'You can tell the other girls when you are well,' she said, nodding. "Jenny laughed; but she looked at each of us as we kissed her, in a queer, steady way. " 'I never was so happy in my life, girls,' she whispered, 'as here with you. Never. I wish I could stay—' "That was all; but when we looked at her dead face the next day, there was a quiet smile on it. "Betty's little effort had made the last year of the tired child's life peaceful and bright." —Selected. IN WHAT DOES EFFICIENT VENTILATION CONSIST?
How MUCH fresh air do we need? An average person, in middle life, exercising in a normal manner, uses in respiration, according to Dalton, an amount of air measuring one hundred and forty times the bulk of his body, in twenty-four hours; the very old and the very young use less, while a man exercising briskly will "spoil" considerably more. All the blood in the body makes the entire round of the circulation in twenty seconds, so that three times in every minute all the red globules of the blood, which are the oxygen carriers, must each have its fresh modicum of oxygen. People sometimes erroneously apply such measurements as these to the calculation of cubic space required for health in an apartment; but if they think of nothing beyond, they have only half solved the problem. Dalton says: "The successful ventilation of a room depends not so much on the quantity of air which it contains as on that introduced and expelled within a certain period. The air of a small room, if properly renewed, may be amply sufficient for respiration, while that of a large room, if it remain stagnant, will become unfit for use." It is the lack of means for getting rid of these products of human combustion in many of the rooms of palatial office buildings, well supplied with steam heat, that they become injurious to the most robust, and most unendurable to persons of a delicate organization. There is very clear proof that the salubrity of a room does not depend on its size. In London there is a series of industrial dwellings known as the Allen-Waterlow buildings, the sites selected with no reference to good or bad soil, but solely so as to be near the work of the occupants. It was through the enthusiasm of Mr. Allen, named above—who was himself a practical mason—that Sir Sydney Waterlow was persuaded to procure the funds needed, and the first principle laid down was to construct in such a manner as to give safety to every room and every individual. They put up their first "Improved Dwelling" in 1860. Careful statistics have been kept from the first, and it appears that the death rate in these buildings is less than it is in the aristocratic West End—in fact, is less than in the best parts of rural England; yet the rooms average 9x13 and 13x12 feet by 8 feet high, giving634 636 feet of cubic space; but this is shared by more than one person. Some of the apartments have but two rooms and a scullery, but each is a complete separate home, with sanitarily perfect plumbing. But other buildings have this, with no such light death rate to show. The greatest factor in the salubriousness of these buildings appears in the statement that every room has an open grate, with a constantly warmed flue communicating with the outer air. In the sleeping rooms a simple open grate is found; in the kitchens, a stove grate, which the English laborer's wife makes into an open grate, so as not to waste her precious "black diamonds," the moment her cooking is done, by turning down the damper. With these constantly warmed air ducts once in twenty feet, there can be no stagnant air. We shall have to inaugurate a flue crusade in America before our palatial office buildings will be perfectly, i. e., healthfully, ventilated. Look at some of the old New England schoolhouses, perched up on brick piers, with the children sitting elbow to elbow in them, and all the "airts that blow" coming up through the cracks in the floor and in at the ill-fitting windows. Did anybody ever hear of "closeness" in connection with them? What does ventilation mean? The Latin ventus means "wind," and the English definition of wind is "rushing air," and it is not till the air about us ceases to rush, and becomes stagnant, that we realize the blessing and comfort of rushing air. How people swelter and groan, "The air is so close," when a warm fog, with no breath of air stirring, envelops us! A whole city can be so imperfectly ventilated as to become dangerous. In the second week of December, 1873, London had one of the densest fogs that ever visited it. The products of combustion from thousands of smoke stacks and chimneys, and the emanations from its millions of human lungs, and all the deleterious effluvia from all other sources, were caught and held right in the houses, or on the respiratory levels; no merciful rushing air swept them away. The Registrar General's report showed 780 more deaths than had been known in any previous week for ten years, and the details of the record showed that the physical disturbances were almost incredibly profound; and a curious confirmation of the fact that atmospheric pollution caused the morbific condition came from a very unexpected source. The Smithfield Club Cattle Show in the midst of London was in operation on the 9th and 10th of that month, and the Times of the 11th relates that the show was interfered with by the sickness and death of many animals, and that others were rescued only by being sent out into the pure air of the country. The human mortality of this unventilated week, with no rushing air, was far greater than in the panic week of cholera in 1866. How shall we secure safe ventilation—a constant renewal of air about us, yet in such a manner as not to cause draughts—for the foul air is slow poison; a blast of cold air may slay like a sword? The old proverb says:— "If the wind strikes you through a hole,
Go count your beads and mind your soul;"
and the million subtle ills that come from "a sudden check of perspiration," says Dr. Austin Flint, "everybody knows about, but not the wisest physician can explain." In England it is against the law to sell infected clothing; but there is reason to believe that it is often given to tramps and gypsies, and yet these out-of-door people almost never have the "catching" diseases. The free air of heaven desiccates and blows away the germs. Shall we then all become tramps and gypsies? Certainly not till our country is furnished with a new climate. Our air must be impounded—shut up—and warmed for at least six months of every year, and in this day of elaborate and costly and "scientific systems" of ventilation, when a world of intellect is being spent on trying to get good ventilation, by dispensing with and circumventing the simplest and most direct methods, of a flue from each room communicating directly with the outer air, and when some of these "systems" that have cost thousands of dollars are failures, one doesn't like to dogmatize; but it is perfectly certain that the simple, direct, efficient method of opening doors and windows, especially in intervals when apartments are not occupied, is much overlooked and neglected, while the owner maybe is dreaming of "systems," on the same principle that a man goes searching all over for his spectacles while they are calmly resting on his forehead. Schoolteachers are learning that it is a valuable help to ventilation to open the windows while pupils are out at recess, and we must all learn that rebreathed air is poison; and, though it is an expensive process, we must make sure that fresh air enough is taken in and properly warmed to feed each hungry blood corpuscle its due quota of oxygen three times each minute. When men undertake to win in a philanthropic cause, they act on the motto, "Agitate, agitate, agitate," and when individuals resolve to preserve a high state of health, they must "ventilate, ventilate, ventilate."—Independent. WHEN war comes in Europe, as it must come some time, people think it will be seen that a new era has begun in the art of destruction. The Belgian historian, Emile de Laveleye, sums up the terrible factors of the next conflict. The Civil War in the United States was but child's play in comparison. With Russia and France on one side and Germany, Austria, and Italy on the other, 7,000,000 men can be instantly put in the field, with 10,000,000 in reserve. The facilities for concentration and the improved arms are such that more men may easily be killed in one day than have ever before been killed in a whole war. The continuous preparations for war, even when there is no thought of its immediate occurrence, are far greater and more expensive than ever before. France has surrounded her frontier and her capital with a continuous line of forts and entrenchments. Germany has made Metz, Strasburg, Mayence, and Cologne gigantic fortresses, which seem absolutely impregnable. Italy has fortified her Alpine passes, her seaports, and even the Eternal City itself. Belgium has spent forty millions of francs in the construction of redoubts with cupolas of steel, to close the passage by the Maas Valley. The war budgets are everywhere increasing in enormous proportions. "And it is under this continual menace of the most frightful shock of armies that our planet will ever have looked upon," writes M. de Laveleye, "that we live. And the most extraordinary thing is that we get used to it. We go about our business, our pleasures; we rush in crowds from all parts to the Exhibition, while each one says, 'It may be for to-morrow!'"—World. WHO IS IT?
By R. A. Prickett
Jesus says, "My sheep know my voice." When our sins are shown us, it is sometimes a question whether it is Satan or the Spirit of truth that presents them to us. One little test will help us to understand the source, and will perhaps save some from a great deal of darkness and discouragement. Does there come with the revelation of sin a darkness, a feeling that God will not help? and do we feel as though there is no use in trying any longer? Then the condemnation is from the devil; he is trying to entangle us. But if there comes a determination to conquer, if there is a sense of the willingness of God to help, if the promises of the Bible are cheering, and if we can see sinfulness in the sin, then we may be sure it is the Comforter trying to lead us on to perfection. The Lord would have us know his voice. AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE.
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Don't look for the flaws as you go through life;
And even when you find them,
It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind
And look for the virtue behind them,
For the cloudiest night has a hint of light
Somewhere in its shadows hiding;
It is better to hunt for a star
Than the spots on the sun abiding. The current of life runs ever away
To the bosom of God's great ocean.
Don't set your face 'gainst the river's course
And think to alter its motion.
Don't waste a curse on the universe—
Remember it lived before you;
Don't butt at the storm with your puny form,
But bend and let it go o'er you. The world will never adjust itself
To suit your whims to the letter.
Some things must go wrong your whole life long,
And the sooner you know it the better.
It is folly to fight with the Infinite,
And go under at last in the wrestle;
The wiser man shapes into God's plan
As water shapes into a vessel. THE LIQUOR CURSE.
By Mrs. P. R. Bagley
TEMPTATIONS, through easy access to drink places and the skillful display of intoxicants and environments, together with the practice of treating, are among the direct causes of the beginning of the drink habit. It is not the second-class resorts nor the low-down dens of strong drink that do the most mischief; it is the rich sample rooms, with their glittering bewitchments, their gay paintings on the walls, their enticing games, their free lunches, their glowing warmth, their magnificent bars. These are the traps which entice some of our most promising youth; these are the snares that year after year ruin some of the choicest young men in all our land, before whose tender feet the people of our government have placed 200,000 pitfalls. The responsibility of wrong, and waste, and misery that attaches to the traffic, by no means rests entirely upon the retail vender. The entire traffic, with all its hideousness, should be banished forever. It is a traffic that blockades the highways and byways of honest business men, and reaches out its iron hands all over this world for clients who are at last consigned to the wretched haunts of suffering and despair. Who does not know that the traffic is a curse to society, a burden to the State, a menace to the nation, a public nuisance, and a private wrong? It debauches citizens, and corrupts official life. It is a great mistake that the prosperity of any community can in any sense be promoted by a traffic whose sole function is to beat down integrity and self-respect. Whoever helps to introduce an agency whose tendency is to tempt youth to unwise indulgence, is guilty of a great sin, saying nothing about moral consequences that follow in its train. When we enjoy our pleasant homes, let us remember that the curse of the dramshop has cast gloom into just such bright homes as ours. Fair and accomplished girls sometimes marry men who are thought to be worthy, and are suspected of no evil habits, but who turn out to be drinking men. God grant that no fond daughter of yours, reader, may return to your home with a broken heart. The life of intoxicating drinks on earth has been one of ruin to the bright hopes of youth and the peace of old age. It has robbed children of their pleasures and delights. It has touched old age like the tip of a poisoned arrow. It is a blight and curse everywhere. A good story is told of the Methodist Bishop Ames, that, while presiding over a certain conference in the West, a member began a tirade against universities and education, thanking God that he had never been corrupted by contact with a college. After proceeding thus for a few minutes, the bishop interrupted with the question, "Do I understand that the brother thanks God for his ignorance?" "Well, yes," was the answer, "you can put it that way if you want to." "Well, all I have to say," said the bishop in his sweetest musical tones, "all I have to say is that the brother has a good deal to thank God for."—Selected. The speed of the falcon often exceeds one hundred and fifty miles an hour. At a depth of more than four miles the ocean is without life, without vegetation, and without light. It is estimated that from 40,000 to 50,000 slaves are yearly carried away captive from Zanzibar and neighboring ports. No bird can fly backward without turning. The dragon fly, however, can do this, and can outstrip the swallow in speed. Small Holes.—The smallest holes pierced by modern machinery are 1-1000th of an inch in diameter. They are bored through sapphires, rubies, and diamonds by a machine which makes 22,000 revolutions a minute. Iron Visiting Cards.—In Berlin, instead of pasteboard, iron visiting cards are used. They are dead black in color, of the usual size, and the name is engraved in silver. The pieces are so thin that more of them can be packed into a cardcase than of the paper ones. Dew Respects Colors.—Dew is the greatest respecter of colors. To prove this take pieces of glass or boards and paint them red, yellow, green, and black. Expose them at night and you will find that the yellow will be covered with moisture, that the green will be damp, but that the red and black will be left perfectly dry. The Plume of a Prince.—The plume of the Prince of Wales, worn on state occasions, is said to be worth $50,000. The feathers are pulled from the tail of the feriwah, one of the rarest and most beautiful birds of India. Great expense and trouble are necessary to capture the bird, which is found only in the wildest jungles. The Deepest Boring.—The Prussian Government is carrying on boring operations in the Rybnik district (Upper Silesia). They have now reached a depth of 6,565 feet, which is about equivalent to twenty times the height of St. Elizabeth's Church steeple at Breslau. The operations are being chiefly carried on in the interests of science.—Schlesische Zeitung. Wholesale Plating.—One of the most remarkable illustrations of progress in electrical appliances is electrolytic painting. Hitherto if copper or other metal had to be deposited electrically, a bath of solution was needed. Now all this is changed, and a ship's hull can be plated as easily as a spoon or a teapot. Instead of a bath, insoluble salts, ground to a fine powder and mixed with water, are used. This mixture is painted on the metal to be plated by a fine wire brush, to which one pole of a dynamo conductor is attached, the other pole being connected to a plate. Not only pure metal but all sorts of alloys can be used.—New York World. THE GOLD COAST, AFRICA.
By Editor
FROM a letter to the corresponding secretary of the International Sabbath School Association we obtain the following interesting items:— There has been for more than a century an establishment of English merchants in the country, which has been the means of disseminating some knowledge of the English language. In 1836 the Wesleyan Methodists entered the field and established schools along the coast line from Apollonia to Lagos, under the superintendence of European and native missionaries. At the present time, however, the majority of these are native ministers, and their operations have been extended to the interior, where they have built chapels and established schools. In Accra District the Basel Mission, established in 1843, is educating the people in the English language and in the Vernacular, also in the gospel of Christ. The headquarters of this mission is at Akropong, about thirty-five miles from the coast. Here is also a theological seminary, where they train young men for the ministry, besides an institution for the instruction of females in the ordinary industries. Another female institution is located at Abokobi, about eighteen miles from the coast. At Christiansborg, the seat of the Gold Coast Government, the Basel Mission has churches and schools under the superintendence of European ministers, with some native ministers, catechists, and teachers. Most of the students here are clerks in the employment of the government and mercantile houses and shops. There is also a workshop here, where young men are taught the various trades, and they find considerable employment on government buildings and public works of various kinds. In Accra, besides the Wesleyan school and chapel, there is a government school under the superintendence of a colonial chaplain (European), with native teachers. There is also a girls' school, under an efficient lady teacher. The Roman Catholics have also opened a school here, the present year, for training young men. Besides this they have schools at Cape Coast and Elimina. Kwitta, about ninety miles from Accra, is the headquarters of the Bremen Mission, where they teach both English and the Vernacular. They have also girls' schools all over the interior, where is given industrial training, as in the Basel Mission schools at Abokobi and Akropong. The writer of the letter from which the foregoing facts are gleaned solicits the extension of our mission work to the Gold Coast country, and expresses the decided opinion that it will receive a hearty welcome. We have no doubt that by some means the way will be opened erelong to respond to the call. MEXICAN HOMES AND CUSTOMS.
By Henry Ware Allen
BURGLARY and that twin dread to the housekeeper, fires, are almost unknown in Mexico. The houses, being constructed almost entirely of stone and plaster, are in no danger of conflagration, and as each house has all lower windows barred with iron, with but one door, and that a huge one of oak, bolted and braced at night as if to withstand a battery, and guarded by a potero who sleeps by it, one feels when going to rest as if he were quite safe from all danger. The houses face abruptly on the sidewalk—the Mexican's house being his castle—but within one always finds a square open patio, often a garden adorned with statuary and fountains. Mexican housekeeping is peculiar. Servants are generally faithful and honest, and work for five to ten dollars per month. Rations, nine to eighteen cents a day, are always extra. A mat on the floor is generally accepted as a good enough couch, but cot beds are supplied in the better houses. Everything is done on a cash basis—the cook going to market for the day's supplies and rendering her account at night. Little or nothing is kept on hand, a few cents' worth of this, that, and the other being purchased every day. Instead of stoves little grates are fixed in masonry of brick, over which, on charcoal fires kept bright by fanning, everything is cooked. Kitchen utensils are almost entirely of earthenware and cost but a trifle. The markets are in the morning great hives of chattering, expostulating, bargaining humanity—more business being accomplished with twenty-five cents than anywhere else in the world. There is no Chinese question in Mexico—John Chinaman would starve if he tried to compete with the peon. This is the land of contracts—none sharper than in the prices of commodities. Goods that have passed the custom house are often double or treble a normal price, while native products are sold for a pittance. The people of Mexico are much misunderstood in the United States. Americans are apt to think of their Southern neighbors as "greasers," judging the nation by that type which is too numerous at the border on either side of the Rio Grande. But as Cortez found here a civilization higher in many respects than that of Spain, so it happens now that visitors from the North find a great deal in Mexico that is superior. An urchin at the public school who has never worn a shoe, and whose ancestors never saw one, will always say, "With your permission," when passing in front of his teacher, and when asked his name will add, in replying, "Entirely at your service." That politeness which comes to an American child, if at all, only after much training, seems to be second nature to a Mexican. When a servant is discharged, instead of raising her voice in wrath, she will say good-by quietly, at the same time asking to be forgiven for all her faults. Kindest of parents, extremely courteous and polite, passionately fond of music and flowers, skillful in many branches of art, these people, the peons of Mexico, are away ahead of their environment. Rich and poor are equally courteous to each other; the best of feeling seems to exist between them. A cochero will pull up his horses to allow "el Señor," who lifts his hat in acknowledgment, to pass. Indeed that dream in Puck, where two Broadway draymen, just after a collision, are pictured as begging each other's pardon, each claiming all blame in the politest language, is almost a realization in Mexico. The spirit of democracy, the absence of snobbishness, is noticeable everywhere. Silks12 and rags mingle freely in all public places and worship together in the churches. That Mexico City is the quietest and most orderly on the American continent is due more to the disposition of the people than to the exceptionally good police service. Sometimes undue importance seems to be given to customs of etiquette. Two Mexican gentlemen will bow and gesticulate before an open door, each urging the other's precedence, when Americans would save the time thus consumed. When walking together, each must take the inside; and the breaking up of a party is accompanied by endless handshakings and farewells. Even on leaving street cars, if the ride has been one of any duration, a gentleman must raise his hat to those left behind, and purchasers at the stores commence and end their dealings by shaking hands with the salesman. Sombreros are always lifted when passing church doors, and at noon, when the cathedral bells ring, every good Mexican within hearing uncovers. The peon population of Mexico live in adobe houses or shanties of cornstalks, own but two or three garments each, sleep on straw mats, and exist on next to no wages. As an official of the treasury department recently stated it, "The population of Mexico is only half fed, a quarter clad, and an eighth illuminated" (petroleum retails for seventy-five cents per gallon). Yet after all there is, without doubt, more real poverty, more distress and desperate hardship, in a single New York tenement house ward than in the whole republic of Mexico—for here the climate is gentle, nature is prodigal, the necessities of life are easily obtained, and the horrors of many-storied tenement houses are unknown. On the one hand, is a race of sunny-natured people, whose condition is steadily improving; on the other hand, a race whose social adjustment is so out of order that an increasing proportion of the population is being crushed under the wheel of unavoidable poverty. The peon is nothing if not contented. He could no more be induced to join a band of "calamity howlers" than could the most villainous "plutocrat" of Wall Street. This characteristic is due partly to the fatalism which prevails, and is further a result of centuries of servitude. Fatalism is said to be a factor in the army. The Mexican soldier goes into battle, believing that if death comes, it was foreordained, and so he does not try to evade the danger.—Review of Reviews. THE HARVEST CALL.
By Annie Teague
Forth with the dayspring flies,
Far o'er the wide plain's sweep,
A swift-winged call that cries,
“More laborers to reap!” The yellow harvest stands;
I see what great reward
Awaits the willing hands
That gather for their Lord. And if I bring at length
No garners running o'er,
But, burdened as my strength,
On me is laid no more, What tho' the gift be small?
Laid on that altar fair
Where heavenly grace doth fall,
Grows measureless and rare. And so I heed the call,
While yet the sunshine lies,
Before the shadows fall
'Twixt me and paradise. Great Ideas and Small Duties
By James Martineau
A soul occupied with great ideas best performs small duties.—J. Martineau. A CORRESPONDENT of the San Francisco Chronicle gives the following curious account of everyday scenes in the great city of Bangkok:— An American finds Bangkok full of the strangest contrasts and oddest sights. He sees the river banks lined for miles with floating houses, the homes of many thousands, and the scene of busy trade. On one corner is the splendid palace of a nobleman, and on the next the hovels of the very poor. Here are groups of Buddhist priests in yellow garb, shielding their faces with fans for fear the sight of women will induce unholy thoughts, and near them are gangs of the toughest of convicts clanking their chains as they toil in the streets. Here are lepers horribly repulsive, unrestrained, and clamorous for alms, and soon, perhaps, the king passes with a brilliant retinue, sitting on his state chair. Fine ladies have teeth as black as polished ebony. It is only the vast army of female outcasts whose teeth are white. When a member of the royal house dies, the cremation ceremonies cost a fortune, and while thousands are witnessing the imposing display, vultures are tearing dead bodies to pieces in the heart of Bangkok, and the poor are burning their dead, a couple of armfuls of wood serving as the funeral pyre. One would have to travel far to witness a more remarkable sight than that which is often seen in the very heart of Bangkok. It is a place where the bodies of human beings are thrown on the ground to be torn to pieces and devoured by vultures. This place is at the foot of a mound on which a great temple stands. You see the ground is covered with the bones of victims, and here is a leg from which the flesh has not yet been entirely stripped. Here is a man's body that was thrown on the ground only a minute before the picture was taken, and at a little distance the carrion feeders, standing on the ground and perched on the fence, are greedily eyeing it. That young man who is crouching over the body is keeping the vultures away while the photographer is taking the picture. Around him are a number of little boys who have gathered to see the disgusting spectacle. This is what they saw a few minutes later:— All the vultures were allowed to light upon the body and tear it as they liked. For a while the great birds completely hid the corpse from view. Each tore off a large piece of flesh, and grabbing it with bill and claws, fluttered away a little distance to quietly eat it without being jostled by its mates. They bolted the food like starving dogs, and it was not long before the bones had been stripped of everything eatable. Persons who die of contagious diseases, and many paupers and criminals, are thus fed to the vultures. One would think that such practices in a great city would breed a pestilence. Here is a great capital in which nearly 800,000 people live who have absolutely no sanitary regulations. No quarantine guards the port against contagious diseases from abroad. The refuse of the kitchen is dumped in front of palaces and splendid temples.