I have before me a copy of the official weekly newspaper of Tahiti, the Messager de Tahiti, published under the auspices of the administration of the colony; it bears date Sept. 13, 1883, and gives an official report of the details and value of the imports and exports of the colony of Tahiti for the year 1882. The former are represented as amounting to 4,391,530 francs, or £175,661 sterling. These goods were taken to the island on 108 ships, twenty of which were French and eighty-eight bearing the colors of other nations. The total exports for the same year are reported in value as amounting to 3,901,934 francs, or about $148,077 sterling. Thus it is seen that in the course of about seventy years the commerce of eastern Polynesia, with Tahiti as its center, has grown from literally nothing to the annual value just stated, and this does not include a large amount of value going into our own colony of New Zealand from several of the islands of Hervey and Society groups.
Whatever claims commerce may pretend to as to precedence in civilization in some parts of the world, it cannot be denied that the missionaries were many years in the field before its commercial resources were in any way developed in the islands of the Pacific in general, and in Tahiti and surrounding islands in particular. In fact, in commercial circles in later years, it is customary, when contemplating a new field of business enterprise in any group of islands, to inquire, "Are the missionaries there?" and an affirmative reply is in some sense a guarantee for security, if not for success.—The Chronicles of the London Missionary Society.
The Every-Day Life.
By Western Christian Advocate
It is our every-day life that decides what kind of Christians we are. We cannot form a proper estimate of Christian character by seeing our friends now and then, or passing a day or two in their society at intervals. We are generally thrown into the society of our friends upon pleasant occasions. We meet them upon life's holidays oftener than in the usual routine of daily duties. We greet them on social occasions when they are prepared to meet us with pleasant words and loving smiles. It is easy then to smile and speak kindly. It is easy to wear a cheerful look when the burden and task are put away from them, and when free from the influences that fret and chafe the body and soul.
Divine grace is not always required upon occasions like this to win the good opinion and approval of others. There is often enough natural goodness about human beings to bring to the surface of their lives those genial graces which charm other eyes and win the respect and confidence of those with whom they come in contact.
Not so, however, in the every-day life. Divine grace alone can sustain the soul when the burden is heavy, and care and trial meet us at every step. There is not enough moral strength in the heart of humanity to sustain it, when the body is weary, and the poor, weak arms just ready to let fall the burden. When trial, discouragement, and disaster all combine to render the life path dreary, then the blessed faith in Christ alone holds those unpleasant influences in check, and stills the troubled waters. With the abiding Comforter in the soul, it is as easy to smile and appear cheerful in adverse circumstances as for the worldling to be happy in the hours of peace and prosperity.
It is our every-day life that builds up our Christian character. If we overcome the daily annoyances of life, we grow strong and heroic, and it soon becomes a pleasant task to do, bear, and suffer. The service of Christ is one that grows lighter and more pleasant as the years go by. It never galls and inflicts needless wounds upon those who are engaged in it.
It is our daily life that exerts a lasting influence over the world. It is this that tests the value of religion, and proves to others that it is pure gold and not a mere profession. It weighs and measures the golden treasure in a way which proves its great worth, and the skeptic himself stands confounded and silenced.
A holy every-day life is the constant practice of the divine principle which saves, lifts up, and elevates the human soul. It is to act in harmony with the blessed requirements of the gospel. It is the sure way to the grand immortal life, which shall make up the eternal ages. Then let us live a holy, consistent life every day, and it will certainly "be well with us."—Western Christian Advocate.
Catholic Brazil.
A CORRESPONDENT of an English paper writes from Brazil: "The population of Rio de Janeiro is about half a million. There are only seven Protestant ministers in the whole city—two Brazilian, four American, and one English. There are only four Protestant churches. I grieve for the English people here, who are like sheep without a shepherd. England sends missionaries to all parts of the world except Brazil; I think Mr. Vanorden, of Rio Grande du Sul, is the only one from England. There are none in Rio, unless you count the English Episcopalian minister one. Nearly all the shops are open here on Sunday, and it is the great day for horse-races and bull-fights, regatta, cricket-matches, and athletic sports. Sunday is the day for all grand exhibitions or important business; Sunday work is quite common among the English clerks and merchants."
Dr. Morrow's Scholar.
"You may leave this Sunday-school now, and you needn't be slow about getting out of the room either, and you need never come back again either, never—do you hear?"
It was young Dr. Morrow talking to one of his Sunday-school boys, a rude, ungoverned and seemingly ungovernable boy, who thoroughly enjoyed disturbing the whole class, not only with his inattention, but also with his actions.
Dr. Morrow's patience had been worn threadbare during the past few weeks, and now that Jim Dunbar had succeeded in getting the whole class with but one exception laughing, and that one exception crying (because a bee which Jim had held imprisoned in a coiled handkerchief had been let out cautiously into his ear and it had stung him), the last thread of that much-suffering virtue gave out, and Dr. Morrow, in his anger, wished that Jim Dunbar would never cross his path again.
The fun all died out of Jim Dunbar's face as he heard the stern command. One quick, reproachful but mortified glance into Dr. Morrow's angry, reproving face, and then the boy started to leave the room. Just before reaching the door he looked up at the beautiful motto over the arch. It had never looked so lovely before—at least that was what Jim thought: "Suffer the little ones to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." That was the motto.
Jim thought of many things as he crossed the threshold and wandered down toward the river. Dr. Morrow had explained that beautiful motto to him, and now some of his thoughts ran after this fashion:—
"He said I was one of the little followers the Saviour wanted, but I guess he's mistaken. I'm too big, most eleven; 'sides that Dr. Morrow said I should never come back again—so I'm forbid, you see—any way I guess I don't belong to the kingdom, else I wouldn't be so mean, that's a fact. I wanted to be good though, real good, but somehow, I don't know just how, the bad keeps a comin' out all the time; I guess I won't even try to be good any more. What's the use? I ain't got any one to tell me how, and 'sides Dr. Morrow says folks can't be good 'less they get near the Saviour, an' I can't get near him, 'cause I dasen't go back to school, an' the Saviour never comes to our house, never!"
However, as the moments flew by, Jim thought no more about the Saviour, but amused himself by throwing sticks and stones into the river, digging holes in the bank and frightening a timid child who came in search of wild flags. He did not go home until he became so hungry that he could not do otherwise. Your heart will go out in pity towards Jim as you enter his home. It is the abode of squalor and wretchedness. His father lies on a rude bed asleep in drunkenness. His mother sits leaning back in an old wooden rocker, her eyes fixed mechanically upon the blank wall. She starts a little as Jim enters, and drawls forth:—
"You're late, Jim."
"Don't seem to make any difference whether I'm late or early—things always look the same," muttered Jim, throwing down his old cap, and drawing near a grimy table pushed against the wall, upon whose one raised leaf, guiltless of table-cloth, the remains of a miserable meal lay scattered.
"Don't be sassy, Jim," drawled his mother.
"I ain't sassy, but I'm hungry—what ye got to eat, mother?"
"You can see for yourself. What you botherin' yer tired mother for?"
Yes; Jim could see for himself—could see some dry crusts and half a glass of beer. He looked at them in disgust.
"We've potatoes, mother—a whole peck of em—why don't you bake some?" he asked.
"Cause I don't feel like it—Sunday's a day of rest." Jim crunched the dry bread and drank the beer, and as for the remains of the pickle, he threw it across the room.
Dr. Morrow lived in the suburbs. The walk home was unusually pleasant; now in his perturbed state he did not enjoy it.
He had done right, of course, in sharply reprimanding that tiresome Jim Dunbar, but had he done right in forbidding him ever to set foot in God's house again? Supposing God should treat his children so?
After dinner Dr. Morrow dropped asleep in his comfortable library chair. He had scarcely entered the land of dreams when he saw a face of surpassing beauty watching him, then a voice said lovingly, yet beseechingly: "Feed my lambs." Then he walked on, his pathway strewn with roses, and pretty soon he saw the lovely face again and heard the gentle voice repeat, yearningly, "Feed my lambs." Then from over a blossoming hedge he soon heard the voice again, saying, oh! so lovingly: "Suffer the little ones to come unto me and forbid them not." He looked and saw the Saviour pointing to another pathway, strewn with thorns and stones. It was far in the distance, and yet he saw a little traveler forcing his way along wearily and painfully. For a moment the small, pinched face turned towards him beseechingly, and then the boy turned his face away. But that moment had been enough for Dr. Morrow to recognize the face as Jimmy Dunbar's. He groaned aloud and then awoke. The afternoon sun was streaming into the library windows; all aglow were the charming pictures of the "Madonna and Child" upon the wall. He looked at the child's face.
"He came into the world to seek and save the lost—how dare I judge a child so harshly?" he thought sorrowfully.
The Sabbath was not yet over when there came a rap at Jimmy Dunbar's door. It was Jimmy who opened it, and over his white, discouraged face, a scared look crept as he recognized Dr. Morrow. What was he going to do? Put him in the "lock-up," perhaps, for letting that hateful bee sting little Dan Phelps. No, that was not Dr. Morrow's intention. He took his hand kindly and said, huskily: "You did not do right this morning, my boy, neither did I. I have forgiven you Jimmy; you forgive me and we'll both do better in the future. Come to the Sunday-school as usual, Jimmy. I'm a little stronger than you, and I want to help you climb up to your heavenly Father." Then Dr. Morrow went into the wretched little room, and went out again with tears in his eyes. But there were no tears in Jim's eyes as he unpacked a great basket of fruit and untied a package of picture papers from Dr. Morrow. There was a deep joy in his heart, and he said, feelingly: "Oh! how good Dr. Morrow is; how he pities a fellow who is down. After all, I don't wish I was dead; I'd rather try to get into the kingdom."—Westminster Teacher.
Write to Mother.
By Nellie Burns
How long since you have written to her? How long since the loving mother heart in the old house has been gladdened by a letter from her boy? Can you not picture her in your imagination, as you have often seen her in your boyhood, going quietly from room to room as she cheerfully performs the work of the house? And how many times, as she is thus busily employed, does her mind go out to you each day, and over and again she will say: "I wonder why Jimmie doesn't write? It seems so strange that we don't get a letter from him."
How many times during the long, neglectful silence of her absent son does she live through his sickness and death among strangers? How the mother heart yearns to be with him as she thus pictures him! So unbounded is her love for him she thinks nothing less than death would cause him to neglect her so.
But Jimmie, in the meantime, has become so engrossed with business and pleasure that his mind rarely turns to his boyhood home.
When he does stop long enough in his busy career to think of father and mother, he promises himself that he will write to them soon. But just the time to do so seems never to come, and so the days glide into months, and while he is enjoying prosperity and happiness, the dear ones at home are in painful suspense over his silence.
We heard a mother say, recently, whose boy had been absent for five years and had been heard from but once or twice during the time: "Oh, the torture that my heart has endured will never be known. I have watched and waited during these long years, hoping that every mail would bring me tidings of my boy. But the watch has been in vain. Every time the gate latch clicks, or I hear a step on the garden walk, my heart leaps into my throat, for I think it may be Johnie coming home."
But a short time after our conversation a letter came from the wanderer, saying that he was sick and was coming home. Ah! but then the strength and tenderness of the mother was shown. Not a word of reproach for his long neglect. The long suspense and anxiety that he had caused her were forgotten. It was only joy, joy, and the years of suffering were completely buried in the excess of happiness that she felt at seeing her boy again.
Oh, what suspense and trouble of mind the absent sons can save their loving mothers by frequently giving a few minutes of time to writing to them. Only a few minutes to each letter! But what pleasure that short time will give in the old home, and how the mother's heart will lighten at this frequent testimony of her son's thoughtfulness and love.—Nellie Burns, in Christian at Work.
The Home Circle.
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
THE BUILDERS.
ALL are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of time,
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach the sky.
—H. W. Longfellow.
The Courage of Daniel
The courage of Daniel is true heroism. It is not physical daring, such as beneath some proud impulse will rush upon an enemy's steel; it is not reckless valor, sporting with a life which ill-fortune has blighted or which despair has made intolerable; it is not the passiveness of the stoic, through whose indifferent heart no tides of feeling flow; it is the calm courage which reflects upon its alternatives, and deliberately chooses to do right; it is the determination of Christian principle, whose foot resteth on the rock, and whose eye pierceth into Heaven.
The Rain Depends on Our Plans
It rains very hard if we want to stay at home; but it is nothing but a slight shower if we want to go out.
Bound in Honor.
By Margaret E. Sangster
"THERE is Jeanie Paull. She has been visiting at Lulu Hardy's," said Constance Stacy to Eleanor Ames. "Now we shall find out whether Lulu's father is as stern as he looks, and why Mrs. Hardy always has such a sad, woe-begone face."
The two girls joined Jeanie, who greeted them very pleasantly. They walked on together, and presently Miss Constance, bent on gaining information, inquired after Lulu.
"Lulu is well, and sent her love to all the girls," said Jeanie.
"And did you enjoy yourself in Arlington?" asked Eleanor.
"Very much indeed. Lulu's home is lovely, and she is so very thoughtful of her friends. It seems as though she cannot do enough for a guest."
"Isn't her father awfully queer and cross?" pursued Constance. "He frowns so in church, and never seems to be enjoying himself. I cannot imagine how you dared to stay in the house with him."
Jeanie's face was quite a study; her dark eyes almost flashed as she turned to Constance, saying:—
"Mr. Hardy is a kind, good man, and Lulu's father besides; but if he were what you seem to fancy, do you suppose I would tell you? I could not be so mean. Mother has always told me that what I see or hear in a friend's house is sacred, and that to chatter things which a friend might not wish to have known, would be unworthy of a lady."
At the corner the girls separated, Constance and Eleanor looking rather ashamed, and Jeanie walking down her own street with a very stately step, holding her head high. That she should be supposed capable of tale-telling was a great annoyance to her, for her mother had trained her to be honorable.
Children, dear, may I whisper to you that we are sometimes bound in honor not to gossip about persons or occurrences, even when nobody has forbidden us to speak?
Should you happen to be sitting, you little Susie, or you Walter, as quiet as a mouse in a corner of the parlor with your book, and mamma, coming in with a friend, holds a conversation not meant for your ear, you should either get up and go away, or, if you cannot go away, you should forget all about what has been said. Above all, never go around looking wise, and dropping mysterious hints, which curious people may take up, as pegs to hang their questions on.
Curiosity, when it leads you to study carefully God's wonders in stones and flowers, is a good thing. It is a good thing where it sends you to the library to find out everything the cyclopedia can tell you about a subject. When it is only an idle desire to peer into somebody's home life, it is a very bad thing. In fact, I hardly know of any way in which trouble is so surely made in this queer world of ours, as by foolish people who go from one person to another thoughtlessly carrying wicked little bits of gossip.
If Nanny or Lucy tells you that Maggie says you are awkward, or slow, or vain, or any other thing which is uncomplimentary, you are not very likely to feel pleased with Maggie. She should not have spoken unkindly about you, for her part; but if you will blame any one, the needless talkers who carried her comments are worse than she.
The Bible says that "a whisperer separateth chief friends." It was true in the old Bible times, and it is just as true to-day.
A private and confidential note should never be shown to a second pair of eyes.
If you ever have reason to think that a friend does not wish a matter to be repeated, make it your business to be silent.
"By thy words shalt thou be justified, and by thy words shalt thou be condemned." This is another bit of wisdom from the best of books. We cannot always control our thoughts, children, but we can control our lips.—Margaret E. Sangster, in S. S. Times.
Bashan.
BASHAN was but a small portion of trans-Jordanie Palestine, and yet contained sixty "fenced cities," with towering walls and gates secured with "brazen bars." Out of over one hundred places mentioned in the Scriptures as belonging to this region, a few only have been identified; of most of them nothing is left but heaps of shapeless ruins without either name or story. Sometimes a solitary column will be found, standing like a lone sentinel with all his comrades lying at his feet, guarding the gate-way to some long deserted city. The old highways connecting these cities may still be traced by the deeply-worn ruts of chariot wheels in their solid beds, though no wayfaring man has ever walked therein for ages; and occasionally a bridge may be seen spanning some stream, or a mile-stone marking the distance to some unknown place, but nothing remains by which the names of many of these places can be determined.
In a few of these cities houses may be found perfect as the day they were built. They are constructed entirely of stone, generally of black basalt, hard as flint. Not only are the walls stone, but the floors, roofs, doors, even the window shutters and hinges. No mortar was used in the construction of these buildings, but the stones were scarfed, so as to bind them firmly together. In some instances the doors are beautifully paneled, with mouldings running round, and ornamented with clusters of fruit and flowers. Some of the houses consist of several apartments with folding doors communicating, each door a single slab of stone. The streets are paved with stone, the court yards flagged with stone, the gates leading to them are stone, some of them ten feet high and eight inches thick, with stone hinges, and grooves for brazen bolts. In the stables all the stalls and mangers are stone, and from the character of their habitations, one would suppose that the great aim of the former inhabitants of this land was to fortify themselves against their enemies, as each house is a fortification of itself. The cisterns, baths, and aqueducts which supplied them are all hewn in the solid rock, and in some of them water may still be found.—Bible Lands.
Early Mail to Walla Walla
This is the way mail reached the Walla Walla Valley, now in Washington Territory, some forty or fifty years ago: There were semi-annual mails from Boston; papers would accumulate in New York for six months, then be carried on a sailing vessel to the Sandwich Islands, thence on the Hudson Bay Company's vessel to Fort Vancouver, on the Columbia River, 100 miles from its mouth; and thence in bateaux, propelled chiefly by human hands, 250 miles to Fort Walla Walla, on the Columbia. And it was a two weeks' journey from a home missionary's station among the Indians in the valley to the post-office at the fort and return. Now letters go from Boston to Washington Territory in seven days.—Sabbath Recorder.
Bad Bargains in Scripture
ONCE a Sabbath-school teacher remarked that he who buys the truth makes a good bargain, and inquired if any scholar recollected an instance in Scripture of a bad bargain. "I do," replied a boy; "Esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage." A second said, "Judas made a bad bargain when he sold his Lord for thirty pieces of silver." A third boy observed, "Our Lord tells us that he makes a bad bargain who, to gain the whole world, loses his own soul."—Messiah's Herald.
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HISTORY OF THE WALDENSES.
By J. A. Wylie
BY J. A. WYLIE, LL.D.
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THIS work describes the conflicts waged by the Waldenses, and the martyrdoms they endured in defense of their faith and their liberty. Recent events have brought the Waldenses to notice, and thrown a new light upon the grandeur of their struggle and the important issues which have flowed from it. To them are we to trace the Constitutional liberties that Italy now enjoys. In their mountain fastnesses they maintained the faith of the early Christians, and by their untiring missionary labors this faith was diffused to all the nations of Europe, thus preparing the way for the great Reformation.
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HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION.
By J. H. Merle D'Aubigné
By J. H. Merle D'Aubigné.
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BIBLE SANCTIFICATION:
A CONTRAST OF
TRUE AND FALSE THEORIES.
BY MRS. E. G. WHITE.
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News and Notes.
By Editor
RELIGIOUS.
—A call has been made from India for Mr. Moody to visit that country and labor as an evangelist.
—The Baptists of New Jersey have seventy-five more Sunday-schools than churches. Not a bad showing.
—Salt Lake City is not inaptly styled the place where the Jews are all "Gentiles," and the "saints" are all sinners.
—The Albany Law Journal says: "Let us not rail at the Chinese as uncivilized, while we speak of tolerating polygamy."
—The Roman Catholics have been holding a church fair in Vicksburg, which is reported as a success. An elegant silver sugar bowl was voted to the most popular saloon.
—Toronto, Canada, is said to be the strictest Sunday-keeping city in the world. The only articles that can be purchased on Sunday are milk and medicines, and these for only a short time in the morning and evening.
—The demand of the Virginia Methodist Episcopal Conference for compensation for several churches destroyed in the early part of the late war has been reported upon adversely by the Committee on Claims of the United States Senate.
—At a recent dedication of a theater in Brunswick, Maine, the exercises were opened with prayer. Well, if there is any place where prayer is needed, it is doubtless in a theater, but wouldn't the minister's prayer have had a better effect if uttered in some other place?
—The Christian at Work says: "The advantage of utilizing the preaching and executive talent that there may be in a church has recently been strikingly illustrated in the case of Rev. W. H. Fuller, pastor at Truro, who, on account of ill health, has been obliged to absent himself from his congregation. During this interval his place has been most acceptably supplied by lay helpers, whom he had previously carefully trained."
—What a pity it is that all cannot understand this simple truth, stated by the Sunday-School Times: "The Bible is a unit. The Old Testament contains the germs of every truth which the New Testament shows in flower and fruit; and the New Testament cannot be understood except as the supplement and complement of the old faith and obedience; faith as the cause of obedience, and obedience as the evidence of faith, are the graces and the duties which both the Old Testament and the New disclose."
—The editor of the Age to Come Herald and Jerusalem's Pioneer has written a book entitled, "The History of the Kingdom of God." A correspondent of the Herald says: "I have read it through, and the last chapter with greater pleasure, joy, and delight than anything I have ever read in my life." We have not seen the book, but if it is of the same class as all the Age-to-Come publications that we have seen, and the correspondent was obliged to read it through, we can appreciate his feelings of joy as he reached the last chapter.
—According to the latest official reports, the statistics of the Friends foot up as follows: London, 15,113; Dublin, 2,845; total in Great Britain and Ireland, 17,958. In this country, however, they make a far better showing, being stronger in a single State than in all Great Britain and Europe combined. Thus we have: Indiana, 20,036; Western States, 11,457; Iowa, 9,431; Philadelphia, 5,650; North Carolina, 5,385; Kansas, 5,228; New England, 4,359; Ohio, 4,252; New York, 3,072; Baltimore, 7,767; Canada, 1,410; total in America, 71,646.
—The Protestant mission at Celaya, on the Mexican Central Railroad, was attacked by a mob June 27, and the furniture and effects destroyed. Rev. A. W. Greenman and others escaped to a neighboring house, being pursued and fired on. Returning the fire, they killed one and wounded several of the mob, which then dispersed. The mission party were then protected by Federal soldiers. Greenman is now with the American Legation in the City of Mexico. The mayor of Celaya encouraged the attack and refused his protection.