Earlier text: "IN THE STOCKS" FOR CONSCIENCE' SAKE1. SOME people never hit because they never fire, they only aim. They spend their time making good aims. They would fire but they are afraid they might miss, and they wouldn't miss for anything. They aim until the bird is flown, then regret that it flew away so soon. Every good object is your bird. Every opportunity is your powder. Aim and fire. It is good to be cautious, but let us be cautious lest we be too cautious. There is a nicety of difference between overcautiousness and cowardice, too fine for distinction. 2. Many a mite makes a might. Methuselah was 969 years old; but there was a time when he was only one day old, then two days, and thus he kept on until he reached that point. If you would attain to great things, take care of small things. If you would be a great man, be a great boy. Gentlemen grow out of gentle boys. What we call great things are simply the aggregate of small ones. No man ever lives a year, no, not even a day. We live only a moment. It is past, then the next, and so on. Live your minutes well and your life will be a success. It is the summing up of these good minutes—these are the aggregate units—which makes a good life, and is represented on the other side of the equation by the "unknown quantity," which we call "the indeterminate progression of blissful eternity." 3. The treatment we receive from others is generally but the echo returned from the voice of our conduct. 4. Where is the logic or Christianity in men saying "Our Father," and disowning each other as brothers? 5. It is not how much we know, but how much we do. It is not how much we do, but how well we do it. 6. It takes more than eyes to see. Try it on a dark night. Worldly wisdom, unassisted by divine illumination, can no more discern spiritual truths than eyes alone can see objects on a dark night. Your wisdom is as helpless as ignorance in spiritual things unless God helps you, my brother. "Spiritual things are spiritually discerned." Proud infidel, do you wonder why you do not see the happy truths and the glorious beyond in which the humble Christian finds exceeding joy? We do not wonder. We commend your truthfulness in saying you do not see anything, for indeed you do not and you cannot. You are in Egyptian darkness. Pray for light, and the objects over which you are stumbling will be as clear as day. It is not the sight of human wisdom you need. It is God's light to refract the object to your dilated but practically blind eyes. The light says to your eyes, "Without me you can see nothing." 7. A man may be many. But it depends on unselfishness. The grain that keeps on a hard, dry, sunny surface, where it can best enjoy itself, will always be one grain; but if it would allow itself to be buried for a while under the soil, it will rise, and in due time537 that one grain will be many. Some men develop, others envelop. That man who grows out, expands. That man who grows in, contracts. Self-centered and self-absorbed, he lived one, died one, unfruitful as the very rock. But that man whose life's usefulness and influence touch other men and inspire for good, that man whose soul's sympathy and helpfulness grow out toward other men, and encourage and help them to produce like fruits, this man is as many men as he has thus produced. What man will not have the ambition to thus multiply himself into many men? 8. It is a sin to go to church—well, wait and let me finish—it is a sin to go to church when you ought to stay at home and attend that poor, suffering parent or friend who so much needs your presence and your service. It is but a decent way of running away from duty. It is a sin to pray—well, let me explain—it is a sin to pray that God may feed the hungry when he has given you the food to feed them and you won't. It is mockery, and "God is not mocked." 9. It is mockery to pray that God will send the gospel to the heathen when he sends you to take it, and you won't go, or asks you to contribute yours, and you won't give. 10. Mutual dependence and interchanging helpfulness are the law of creation. "No man liveth to himself alone." Nothing exists for itself, but for some other thing, or things. We might have been made with one hand, but we have two. The right hand may wash the back of the left, and the left that of the right. We might have had one leg, one eye, one ear, but we have two. The silent suggestion is mutuality and harmony. Again, nothing naturally exists, beneficially, as a primal or solitary constituent. The very air, so clear that we see straight through, so fine that we cannot see it, is not one element, but a combination of elements. The most transparent liquid is not simplex but complex. Everything unselfishly exists for something else. The soil is made that plants may grow. Plants grow for beasts and man; beasts exist for the service of man; man exists for the pleasure of God; and even God (we say it reverently and thankfully) exists to furnish us all our needs. Each in his turn for the benefit of some other. What would you think of that tree of oranges which forbade men to pick the fruits, because they were hers? What do you think of that man who keeps the products of his life, whatever they may be, from benefiting others, because they are his? We get that we may give, and there is more blessing in the latter than in the former, for it is written, "It is more blessed to give than to receive." 11. A person may be so busy as to forget his business. Martha was a busy woman, but her busyness caused her to neglect her business. We will find in this world many busy people—so busy minding, yes, and mouthing too (they will never touch it with their hands)—so idly busy with other people's business that they have no time to do their own. Peter calls them "busy bodies in other men's matters," and we have no better name for them. Would that such would heed Paul's advice, "Study to do your own business." 12. "Learn of me," says Christ. Some would be Christians like some schoolboys attend school, but they do not learn. Like the idle fellow, while the other boys are trying hard to learn some difficult lesson, failing repeatedly, perhaps, this good-for-nothing-else Christian is criticising and drawing caricatures of the trying ones. But it is the student who tries and fails, and tries again and again, that makes the scholar at last, mental or spiritual. "Learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart," says Christ. How many calling themselves Christians never learn this lesson! But the only text-book in Christ's school is that entitled Humility, himself the Author of the book, himself the Teacher of all those who study that book. He says, "Learn of me." No other scholar, from any other school or Sanhedrin, can compete with his. "Learn of me;" never man taught like this Man. A LADY who in her girlhood was discouraged by her lack of beauty, but lived to become a leader of society, with hosts of sincere and loving friends, told the following story of the incident which gave her hope and inspired her to usefulness:— "If I have been able to accomplish anything in life, it is due to the words spoken to me in the right season, when I was a child, by an old teacher. I was the only homely, awkward girl in a class of exceptionally pretty ones, and, being also dull at my books, became the butt of the school. I fell into a morose, despairing state, gave up study, withdrew into myself, and grew daily more bitter and vindictive. "One day the French teacher, a gray-haired old woman, with keen eyes and a kind smile, found me crying. 'What's the matter, my child?' she asked. 'O madame, I am so ugly!' I sobbed out. She soothed me, but did not contradict me. Presently she took me to her room, and, after amusing me for some time, said, 'I have a present for you,' handing me a scaly, coarse lump, covered with earth. 'It is round and brown as you. "Ugly," did you say? Very well. We will call it by your name, then. It is you. Now, you shall plant it, and water it, and give it sun for a week or two.' I planted it and watched it carefully; the green leaves came first, and at last the golden Japanese lily, the first I had ever seen. Madame came to share my delight. 'Ah!' she said, significantly, 'who would believe so much beauty and fragrance were shut up in that little, rough, ugly thing? But it took heart when it came into the sun.' It was the first time that it ever occurred to me that, in spite of my ugly face, I too might be able to win friends, and to make myself beloved in the world."—Selected. A PRISON UNDER THE SEA.
By David Ker
A TRUE STORY, BY DAVID KER.
"I'll tell you what, my boys, it's a good job for us that the tide is so low, for if it came up and caught us here, we should all be drowned like rats!" "Well, I suppose that would just suit old Jim: he's never happy except when he's doing his best to get killed." "Perhaps," laughed Jim, "I might be a descendant of the Irishman who vowed to hang himself or perish in the attempt." "Ay, and you will perish in the attempt if you don't look out, but I wish you wouldn't try quite so hard to make us perish along with you. Do you remember, George, how Jim took us into the seal's cave, where there was only just room for one man to pass at a time, so that if even one seal had thought of coming back while we were there, it might have eaten us all, one after the other, as our friend Giant what's his name did with the sailors of Ulysses?" "And he made us let him down with a rope over the edge of a precipice," cried George, "onto a ledge no broader than my hat, just to get hold of an egg not worth twopence!" "It certainly wasn't worth twopence when I'd done with it," chuckled Jim, "for I smashed it against the rocks in getting back; but that, after all, only showed that I was not inclined to bare the yolk." "No," grinned George; "it showed that you were egged onto it." The three brave English lads who spoke thus had indeed thrust themselves into a perilous adventure; and though they talked so lightly, they all saw the danger clearly enough. On the rocky coast of Devonshire—one of the most dangerous as well as the most beautiful portions of the whole English seaboard—the waves have tunneled out a small cave in the back of a huge projecting cliff, only to be reached by narrow openings just wide enough for a man to crawl through, which are poetically called "The Eyes," by the native fishermen. Through these holes our heroes had made their way into the cave, where they had a famous time hunting crabs, splashing through pools, leaping from point to point of the slippery rocks, crowning each other with wreaths of seaweed, and making every nook and cleft of the dark cavern ring with an uproarious impromptu parody of "Over the Sea." "Under the sea, under the sea,
In the home of the lobster, how happy are we!
Under the sea, under the sea,
We'll be snug till the tide comes again." At length, determined not to leave anything unseen now that they were there, the young explorers lighted a candle, which they had brought with them, and fixed it in the crack of a rock, chuckling at the thought of management that would be felt by all the homeward-bound fishermen at the sight of this538 sudden and strange lighting up of The Eyes, amid the gathering dimness of the evening. But, as their ill luck would have it, the candlelight showed them another opening at the far end of the cave, which seemed to lead into an inner grotto going still deeper into the heart of the cliff. This was quite enough for their daring leader, who, as if bent upon showing how fully he deserved his popular nickname of "Mad Jim," insisted on crawling through this hole, "to see what the place was like." "Don't make a fuss about nothing, old fellows," he said in answer to the remonstrances of his two friends. "I don't suppose I shall find anything uglier than myself inside." "Highly improbable," muttered George with a broad grin. "And if I light upon a shark or an octopus mounting guard in there," went on Jim, calmly ignoring the sarcasm, "I'll just bring him out along with me, and we'll have him for supper." So saying, he thrust his feet into the cleft, and began to wriggle his way through. It was a very "close fit;" but luckily, or, rather, unluckily for him, the sharp points of the rock sloped the other way, and he at length made good his entrance, though not without a scratch or two. His comrades handed him the light through the gap, and he just had time to discover that he was in a large, high-roofed, nearly circular cave, with no openings in its rocky walls save the one by which he had entered, when the quick ears of the two sentinels in the outer cavern caught a distant sound which the pair only knew too well. "I say, old man, you'd better look alive!" shouted he through the hole; "the tide's coming back to its lodging, and if it finds us in the act of committing a burglary on the premises perhaps it won't be pleased." "Hold on half a minute," answered Jim, who was evidently very far from realizing the immediate danger he was in; "I want to have a good look at the way the water has hollowed out these arches." But as he held up his candle for a better view, a sudden splash of water from a bunch of seaweed overhead effectually cut short his inspection by putting out the light. "Well," cried he with a laugh, which came echoing up hoarse and hollow through the rocky cleft, as if issuing from a tomb, "that's rather a mean trick, but if it won't let me see any more, I suppose I had better come out." And he thrust himself head foremost into the gap. "Come along, old fellow," cried George impatiently; "the tide's coming up full split, and we have another hole to get through, you know." "It's all very fine to say come along," retorted Jim; "but what if I can't?" In fact, poor Jim found to his cost that it was easier to get in than to get out again, for the jagged points of the rock, all jutting inward, now caught him like the teeth of a man-trap. He barely succeeded in wriggling his head and one arm through the gap, and then he stuck fast, unable to move forward or backward. "Do you mean to say, old boy, that you can't get through?" cried George as he and his comrade anxiously watched their friend's vain struggles, neither of them daring to hint to the other of the ghastly thought that was beginning to rise in the minds of both. "It don't look very much like it," replied Jim, forcing a laugh. "I suppose I must try it the other way. I came in here feet first, so perhaps I can go out in the same style. Give us a shove, boys." And then, making a violent effort, he succeeded in backing out of the hole on his own side, whence he instantly made a fresh attempt feet foremost. But to their utter dismay, though he had got so far, there was no getting him one inch farther. They tugged till their faces grew purple, and Jim seconded them with all his might, but it was all in vain. And then there came back upon all three with a sudden thrill of horror the memory of poor Jim's light jest on entering this fatal prison about his finding nothing there uglier than himself. He had found something uglier—he had found death! "It's no use, boys," said the doomed lad, faintly. "Save yourselves while you can—it's all over with me." "Shut up," cried George fiercely; "do you take us for cowards? We won't budge till we've got you out." But every word of this bold defiance fell like lead upon his own heart, for he felt that he spoke without hope; and in the gloomy silence that followed the roar of the hungry tide was heard more plainly than before. "I have it!" cried Jim, suddenly showing even in his deadly crisis the cool readiness which was to make him so renowned in after years. "It must be my clothes that stop me; I'll pull them off and try again." In a trice he had stripped himself, and, passing his clothes through the gap, made one final effort to force his way out. Even then, however, the cruel rock teeth did not easily quit their prey, and he was bleeding from more than one deep gash when his friends at length dragged him out of that living tomb, gasping and exhausted. For several weeks to come this hairbreadth escape was the talk of the whole district; but the adventure was recalled with a deeper and gloomier interest not many years later, when "Mad Jim," its principal hero, had become famous throughout the whole world as Bishop Harrington, the martyr missionary of Uganda. THE CORE OF THE HOUSE.
By Mrs. Sangster
We think of it oft in the glare and heat of our lifetime's later day,
Around our steps when the wild spray beats, and the murk is gathering gray.
As once to the altar's foot they ran whom the menacing foe pursued,
We turn to the still and sacred place where a foe may never intrude;
And there, in the hush of remembered hours, our failing souls grow strong,
And gird themselves anew for the fray, the battle of right and wrong,
Behind us ever the hallowed thought, as pure as a rose in bloom,
Of the happiest spot in all the earth, the mother's darling room. We've not forgotten the fragrant sheaves of the lilacs at the door,
Nor the ladder of sunbeams lying prone on the shining morning floor;
We've not forgotten the robin's tap at the ever friendly pane,
Nor the lilt of the little brook outside, trolling its gay refrain.
How it haunts us yet, in the tender hour of the sunset's fading blush,
The vesper song, so silvery clear, of the hidden hermit thrush!
All sweetest of sound and scent is blent when, pure as a rose in bloom,
We think of the spot loved best in life, the mother's darling room. Holding us close to the best in life, keeping us back from sin,
Folding us yet to her faithful breast, oft as a prize we win,
The mother who left us here alone to battle with care and strife
Is the guardian angel who leads us on to the fruit of the tree of life.
Her smile from the heights we hope to gain is an ever beckoning lure;
We catch her look when our pulses faint, nerving us to endure.
Others may dwell where once she dwelt, and the home be ours no more,
But the thought of her is a sacred spell, never its magic o'er.
We're truer and stronger and braver yet, that, pure as a rose in bloom,
Back of all struggle, a heart of peace, is the mother's darling room. —From Mrs. Sangster's "On the Road Home." The Real Man Finds Excuses
The real man is one who always finds excuses for others, but never excuses himself.—Beecher. THE WORD OF GOD.
By George Barrell Cheever
THAT is true faith in God, and loyalty to him, which is faith in God's word, and abides by it, and acts accordingly. And it was by such use of God's word that our Lord put Satan to flight, and not by an array of angels, or any exercise of supernatural power, but by doing what he knew to be the will of God, as it was written, by drinking the cup which the Father had given him. Thus was cast out the great dragon, "that old serpent, called the devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world." Our blessed Lord might have launched at him a single thunderbolt, and transfixed him in that bottomless pit, from whence, by mysterious permission, he had broken loose, and was now ranging up and down Judea seeking whom he might devour. . . . He simply smote him with the "sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God," and that was enough. He used no other argument, no other compulsion, than that of divine truth, in the simplest, plainest announcement of the will of God. He gave no other reason but this, that God says it, and that settled the matter. Even so his disciples were to overcome the accuser, the Diabolis of mankind, "by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony," loving not their lives unto the death. It was an example for us all, for the ministry, for the churches, in the conflict against sin and Satan. We must throw ourselves on God's word, and use it, and apply it, not as the word of man, but as it is in truth, the very word of God only. We are not to be afraid of it, not to play at blind man's buff with it (see 2 Cor. 4:4); we are not to doubt it; we are not to withhold it nor conceal it; we are neither to suffer its perversion, nor to thrust it as a sword into the scabbard, instead of into men's hearts and iniquities; but we are to draw it forth and smite with it on every side. Neither man's expediency nor permission is to be the rule, but only God's word "Thy word have I hid, in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee." No emergency could have happened, no mischievous contingency been brought about by Satan, to which our blessed Lord would not have instantly applied some pertinent or commanding passage or example. "For the word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword." Our Lord needed no other library, no other weapon, no other education; neither needs any Christian, for that is all and in all.—Dr. Geo. B. Cheever. THE BURMANS OF TAVOY.
By Rev. H. Morrow
As THERE is no one in Tavoy laboring particularly for the Burmese, you hear little or nothing from them. And yet there are here a few Burmese disciples whose lives testify to the truth of the gospel. There has never been a missionary to the Tavoy Burmans for any length of time at once. In absence of such the Karen missionary has always had charge of the work and done what he could. Rev. E. O. Stevens, of Maulmein, has visited us several times the past few years, and such visits have greatly strengthened and helped the church. Last Sabbath morning he baptized two promising young men. The baptism took place at the little lake in the rear of our Karen Compound, the place where the first Karen convert was baptized sixty-five years ago, May 16, 1828. To this Mr. Stevens referred in his talk, and stated that there were now in Burma thirty thousand Karen Christians. I counted more than two hundred heathen Burmans present. All behaved with the utmost respect. We were glad of this, for it indicates that they have come to look upon Christianity as deserving of a hearing at least. Mr. Stevens' methods of work are, so far as we know, quite unique, but effective. Most of the Burmese, of Tavoy, at least, are working people who get home to their houses about dark. They then have dinner, after which they like to meet in companies and talk and discuss, something after the fashion of men in a country store or post office at home. These little gatherings afford good opportunities for preaching the gospel. Many families, heathen and Christian alike, have invited Mr. Stevens to come to their houses in the evening and talk to their friends, and he very gladly accepts such invitations. Let me describe such a meeting, one I attended with him. It was at the house of one called fairly well to do for a Burman. Chairs were furnished for us, and mats for the natives, about twenty-five, men and women. Mr. Stevens stood up and gave a rather formal talk for a little time. Then he sat down on a mat with the Burmese, and was ready for questions. In the meantime tea and cake were passed539 to us (cake from the baker's) and tea and bread to all others. Small pillows, cases perfectly white and clean, were passed to the natives to recline on. Chairs and a small table they thought good enough for us. I mention this as I never saw it before, but now find such are used by those who have nice things about them, like pillow shams, etc., at home. Such questions were asked as, "Why did a Holy God allow sin in the world?" "Why does a loving God allow some to be lame, some blind, some very poor?" etc., and by the less intellectual portion, "Where did Cain get his wife?" At this meeting some spoke English, and I could talk to them, while Mr. Stevens talked to those who understood only Burmese. Of course we both told them that they knew the terrible fact that sin is in the world, and Christianity alone shows how we can be saved from its power here and its consequences hereafter. Mr. Stevens stood among a little cluster of elderly women, and urged them to come to Christ, and they seemed to drink in his words. Having been born in Burma, he speaks the language "better than a Burman," as one told me. We stayed till after nine o'clock, and then left the native preachers and Christians to carry on the talk, which they did till midnight. It may not be known by some that the Burmese are perfectly accessible. So far as I know, there is not a house in this town of fifteen thousand people where a missionary would not be welcome. More than that, they would feel they were greatly honored by having him come to their houses. I do not say they would accept his message, but they would give him a chair, if one was in the house, and if not, would run to borrow one, and he could talk as long as he wished. Of course a man can talk to the women as well as to others. The old objection of women, "Go talk to my husband, I am a woman and have no soul," is now seldom heard. Still every woman says her little prayer at night, that she may become a man in the next state of existence, and so have a chance of going to Nigban. And yet intellectual men are giving up the thought of ever getting to Nigban, or annihilation. Said one to me as we came up from the baptism, "The books say there is the same chance to get to Nigban as there is for one needle taken up thousands of miles into the air, to fall and touch the point of another needle placed with the eye in the ground and the point upwards." Of course that means impossible. Let me say that in all this field there are one hundred and twenty thousand Burmans, and among them but eighteen believers. Will those who may read this poor letter join with us in prayer that some earnest man be sent to Tavoy to work for this multitude? The harvest is surely plenteous.—Helping Hand (Baptist). THE SIN OF FRETTING.
By Helen Hunt
THERE is one sin which it seems to me is everywhere and by everybody underestimated, and quite too much overlooked in valuations of character. It is the sin of fretting. It is as common as air, as speech, so common that, unless it rises above its usual monotone, we do not even observe it. Watch any ordinary coming together of people, and see how many minutes it will be before somebody frets, that is, makes more or less complaining statement of something or other which most probably everyone in the room, or in the car, or the street corner, it may be, knew before, and probably nobody can help. Why say anything about it? It is cold, it is hot, it is wet, it is dry; somebody has broken an appointment, ill cooked a meal; stupidity or bad faith somewhere has resulted in discomfort. There are plenty of things to fret about. It is simply astonishing how much annoyance may be found in the course of every day's living, even at the simplest, if one only keeps a sharp eye out on that side of things. Even Holy Writ says we are prone to trouble as sparks fly upward. But even to the sparks flying upward, in the blackest of smoke, there is a blue sky above; and the less time they waste on the road, the sooner they will reach it. Fretting is all time wasted on the road.
—Helen Hunt. A QUEEN WASHING WINDOWS—WHY NOT?
It is said that when Queen Victoria was quite a little girl she spent an afternoon with Queen Adelaide, who assured her that she might do anything within reason that she wished. After weighty consideration the little princess declared that nothing would give her such pleasure as to be allowed to clean the windows. So a cloth, pail, and water, and pieces of wash leather were supplied to her, and greatly did she revel in the indulgence.—Selected. PLOWED UNDER.
By New York Observer
I saw a field of rich, green clover grow,
Its blossoms honey-laden for the bee;
And turning to the owner, who stood by,
I asked what time the harvest would be. '"Twill not be gathered in." "How then?" I
cried,
"Have you no recompense for all your toil?"
The farmer smiled, he was more wise than I;
"I plow it under to enrich the soil." And all at once I seemed to see more clear
Some things that I had tried to comprehend.
Has not the heart, like that broad field, its
growths
That never seem to reach their destined end? Its early dreams that perish unfulfilled?
Its youthful hopes that perish ere their prime?
Its fond affections and its tender love,
Borne down before their perfect blossom time? I mused on these, and as I turned my feet
Back to the city, with its swift turmoil,
I smiled and said in tranquil, sweet content,
"God plow them under to enrich the soil."
—New York Observer. AN ENGLISHWOMAN GOES ALONE TO AFGHANISTAN.
OCCASIONALLY in his mountain home the Ameer of Cabul has met ladies of refinement, and the oriental despot has not been slow to observe with delight the easy and graceful manners of the fair ones from the Occident. His majesty some months ago conceived the idea of educating the ladies of his harem in European manners, and with this end in view asked an English officer to find him a "governess" possessed of the necessary accomplishments. The officer expressed doubts as to the possibility of finding any lady willing to take the risk, upon which the Ameer assured him that his royal protection would be extended to the visitor, and that in addition she should name her own salary. With this assurance the officer mentioned the subject to some friends on his return to Calcutta, and a young Englishwoman named Hamilton accepted the place. Miss Hamilton sings, plays, and paints with marked ability, and is in all ways just the sort of woman the Ameer wants. In addition she has a good general knowledge of medicine, having given considerable study to that science; and, although ability as a physician was not specified as among the necessities, there is no doubt the Ameer will be doubly glad to have a European doctor in his palace. Miss Hamilton shows rare courage in undertaking such a long journey alone, Cabul being fourteen days' march from Peshawur, the last place in India at which she stopped.—Syndicate Letter. CHRISTIANITY IN MADAGASCAR.
By Watchman
THE story of Christianity in Madagascar is one of magnificent heroism and of triumphant devotion, and is an inspiration to all who are interested in the progress of the kingdom of Christ throughout the world. The island of Madagascar properly belongs to Africa, but the Malagassy have only a slight mixture of African blood. In language, in appearance, in social customs, and in personal characteristics, they are more allied to the Malay tribes. The climate of the island is healthy in the interior highlands, but along the coast is malarial and not adapted to the residence of foreigners. One language is spoken throughout the island, although the various tribes have dialectic variations; but at the present time the Hova tribe, which inhabits the province of Imerina, has become the dominant power of the island. The Hovas are the latest immigrants to the island, and are the lightest in color and most intelligent and most civilized of the people. The Malagassy have many admirable traits. They were never cannibals and never utterly savage. They have always lived in settled communities, and were loyal and law-abiding people. Agriculture was their chief occupation, and their chief fault has been that same lack of pure moral standards which is found in all the people of the Malay race. The position of woman in Madagascar has always been higher than in most heathen lands. For more than sixty years the island has been ruled nearly all the time by queens. The people are affectionate, kind to children, respectful to the aged, and polite and hospitable to strangers. Family slavery exists, and formerly slaves were imported from Africa; but in 1877 all foreign slaves were freed, and the domestic slavery which now exists is extremely mild in its character. The Malagassy have never had an organized form of religion, but, as in Africa, were greatly under the power of fetishism and witchcraft. Anything in which they might think for a time that the spirit of a Deity resided, became to them an object of worship. Stones, trees, animals, and objects of a peculiar and odd character, became to them sacred for the time being; but when convinced that the spirit which they worshiped had left the object, it was no longer sacred in their eyes. The Malagassy, in fact, belong to that great class of people who never could be properly classed as idolaters, but were included in the great class of animists, or spirit worshipers, of which other prominent representatives are found in the Karens of Burma and the people of the Pacific islands, as well as the inhabitants of a large portion of the continent of Africa. In 1820 Christian missions were begun in Madagascar by the London Missionary Society, and from this time dates the modern development and progress of the island. Before that there was no written language, and not much method of communication between the different tribes of the island. The missionaries reduced the language to writing, and prepared books, published translations of the Scriptures, established schools, and introduced many useful forms of industry. For a few years Christianity made great progress, and enjoyed tolerance under the government, and a large number of converts were gathered into the churches. But in 1835 began that season of terrible persecution, borne with heroic courage and devotion, which has made the history of the Madagascan church illustrious in the annals of Christianity. On her accession to the throne Queen Ranavalona I, determined to exterminate Christianity from among her people. The mild measures which were at first adopted not proving successful, the utmost severity and cruelty followed. Christians were put to death in every conceivable form of cruelty. The striking picture of Christianity in Madagascar is that where multitudes of the Christians were led to the brow of a precipice and ordered to give up their Christian faith. Upon their refusal, one after another, they were flung over the precipice, to perish upon the rocks far below. This persecution continued without interruption for a period of twenty-five years, but such was the fortitude and devotion of the Christians that even this cruel and long continued persecution failed to eradicate Christianity from the island. On the death of the cruel queen and the resumption of missionary work, multitudes were found waiting to welcome back their Christian teachers, and to rejoice in the freedom which had come to them. Christianity, however, was not officially acknowledged in Madagascar until 1882, when Queen Ranavalona II. came to the throne. One of her first acts was to establish Christianity as the religion of the kingdom—the worst thing which could have been done. She herself is a Christian, and, with the aid of her prime minister, who is also her husband, did much to strengthen the position of Christianity on the island. The progress of Christianity on the island has been rapid and substantial, and every way encouraging, chiefly among the Hovas and the more nearly related tribes occupying the highlands of the interior of the island. The number of Christians in the island is now 56,539. Very recently the prospects of Protestant missionary work in the island have become clouded by the aggressions of the French. Everywhere French authority goes, Protestant missions are carried on with great difficulty. The Malagassy are resisting with the utmost courage and with admirable patience the encroachments of the French, and every true lover of freedom and of true Christian enlightenment must sympathize with those noble, heroic, and admirable people in their steady struggle against the unwarranted assumptions of the French nation.—Watchman. AMONG THE NATIVES.
By Elliot C. Chapman
RECENTLY Mrs. Chapman and myself made a trip to some of the remote districts of Tahiti for the purpose of distributing literature. We took in our carriage 20,000 tracts, including 500 copies of the "Life of Christ," 650 copies of "The Sinner's Need of Christ" (a translation of the first chapter of "Steps to Christ"), and 250 copies of the pamphlet "Truth Found." The first night out we stopped with some of our native brethren in a district fifteen miles from Papeete, where Brother Paul Dean has recently labored. After supper we were surprised to find that about forty people had gathered in front of the house to welcome us. To the children we gave some pretty cards, and to the older ones the printed matter. During the evening Mrs. Chapman sang to them some pieces in Tahitian from our new hymn book, which pleased them much. They were also much interested in the book "Portfolio of Life," which we exhibited to them. The illustrations of the effects of liquor and tobacco on the human system awakened some serious thoughts. In our journey the following day we were often made sad to note the prejudice which was in many minds. Often as we would come up to a house and offer them some reading matter, we would hear someone say, "Pitonia, paha," that is, "Pitcairn, perhaps." Some were very glad to meet one of the Pitonias, while others looked very suspiciously at us, and preferred to keep at a distance. Nearly all took the papers, however. Upon reaching the districts beyond, which are under different ecclesiastical supervision, the appetite for literature was simply astonishing. Friday, April 27, we reached the native village of Tautira, situated about fifty miles from Papeete, which we visited about nine months previously. As we drove up in front of the house of the native governor of that district, we were pleased to see that tall chief coming to welcome us, dressed in a shirt and pareu. He entertained us kindly at his house during our stay of two days. We had some pleasant talks with an old Scotch friend, who is a Seventh-day Baptist, also with the native schoolteacher and native minister of the place. We were also pleased to meet here the native minister of the little island of Maitea, which lies about sixty miles from the eastern end of Tahiti. He asked many questions concerning the Scriptures, and seemed deeply convinced on some points which he had not thought of before. He takes some literature with him to those on his little island home. One young man was quite certain that the first day should be kept, because the Bible said that the day was changed. After hunting a good while, he produced a Catholic Bible which really did give the desired information in a footnote. Others said that they kept the seventh day, and that Monday was the first day of the week. When asked concerning the change a few years ago from the seventh day, which the early missionaries kept, to the first, which is now observed, one thought one thing and another, another. The manakin pictures of the book "Portfolio of Life" were gazed upon in wonder by many at this place. Sunday morning, after attending their early service and giving out about all the literature that we had with us, we bade good-by to those kind-hearted people, and started for home, which we reached the following evening. Though these people exhibit many interesting qualities, most of them are journeying in the road that leads to death, without hope and without Christ enthroned in the heart. They need the prayers of Christians that the Lord in mercy will water the seed sown and save some of these precious souls, for whom Christ died.
ELLIOT C. CHAPMAN.
Papeete, Tahiti, May 10, 1894.