THE exclamation almost involuntarily rises from the lips as one reads the terrible accounts of distress that are so frequent this winter. Take for example the two following pictures of horror, which could be many times duplicated, and which, headlines and all, are taken from a political paper, the Independent American, Creston, Iowa:—
HELPLESS WOMEN STARVE TO DEATH ON THE STREETS OF CHICAGO.
While Our Plutocrats Roll in Wealth Never Dreamed of by Oriental Princes.
DIES ON A NEW YORK STREET.
NEW YORK, Feb. 5.—The first really fierce grip of icy winter that came in the city arrived last night with a suddenness that caused much suffering as well as death. The saddest case was that of a woman found sitting stone dead in a doorway at No. 438 West Fifty-ninth Street, last midnight, by comfortably clad Tom O’Connor, who was hurrying homeward with his head well down in the upturned collar of his big night ulster.
The poor woman would have been thinly clad even for June. She had not a shred of underclothing on. Her waist and skirt, of some light, frayed stuff, were of little use toward keeping out cold as keen and searching as that of last night. The only garment that had the least pretension of having been made with an idea of protection from cold was an absurd little jacket with shabby borders of fur about it.
The very policemen at the station were moved out of their professional stoicism at the sight of the poor frail creature’s wretched garments and wan, hunger-pinched face. She was, or had been, a very comely woman, of not more than thirty years of age, and there was nothing in her face that told of a life of dissipation, but rather the reverse. There was not a penny of money about her, nor any mark or scrap of any kind to give a clew to her identity.
CRUSHED TO DEATH IN CHICAGO.
The Chicago Sentinel records a heart-rending scene in that city:—
Crushed to death by a hungry mob, battling for food in the county agent’s office, Mrs. Anna Lindgren’s body lies in the little bare parlor at 66 Marion Street.
Literally stricken down, and the life crushed from her frail body, in a struggle for bread, death came as a relief to the hungry and unhappy woman. Her husband sits beside the plain coffin which the county agent furnished, and the mob still battles for places in the long line before the county agent’s window. The one frail form is not missed.
It was 1 o’clock yesterday afternoon when Mr. and Mrs. Lindgren entered the county agent’s office to ask for assistance. Neither had eaten anything for two days, and the pale, sick woman leaned heavily on the arm of her husband. Within the rooms a mob of men, women, and children literally fought for places in the line before the windows. Every few moments a rush from behind would break the line, and those pushed out of their places would fight to regain them, to save the long wait for food which going to the end would necessitate.
Mrs. Lindgren, weak and sick, shrank back in alarm, but food must be had, and she led her weak husband up to a chair near the wall, while she wearily took his place at the end of the line. Slowly those in front presented their tickets and moved away; slowly the line moved forward. Suddenly there was a rush from the rear, the center of the line bowed out, and those nearest the wall fought stubbornly to save themselves from being crushed. Above the other voices sounded a woman’s scream. Then the police pushed their way through the crowd to where Mrs. Lindgren lay, crushed and motionless, upon the floor. She had been carried down in the rush, and her frail hold on life was almost broken.
Tenderly and hastily she was raised and borne to an ambulance. Her half-frantic husband followed, and the wagon was quickly driven to the cheerless home, 66 Marion Place. There the county physician made a careful examination and found that her left hip was crushed, and that the resultant internal injuries were serious.
For hours the husband sat watching his wife’s life ebb away, until late last night, when death brought her relief from suffering. Meanwhile the county agent’s office had sent food and fuel to the little home, where three children shivered around their mother’s dead body.
Read these accounts, and, as you read, think of the four thousand millionaires of the United States, with from $1,000,000 to $150,000,000 each, and of the many thousands more who, while not millionaires, can count up their ill-gotten gains by figures of six places. Then read again James 5:1–8 and ask yourselves if that prophecy for the last days is not literally and emphatically fulfilled.
They build great institutes, found mighty universities, give lavishly(?); but no one ever supposes they feel the want of what they give for the support of libraries and museums. But they do not seem to ever think of giving up their unjust methods of getting the money they give so lavishly. But God has spoken, and the days are not far distant when “the mighty man shall cry there bitterly;” and “neither their silver nor their gold shall be able to deliver them in the day of the Lord’s wrath.” Zeph. 1:14–18. Then those who now carry their heads so haughtily and boast of their wealth will fling these idols away and call upon the rocks and mountains to fall on them and hide them from the face of God, and from the wrath of the Lamb, “for the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?” Isa. 2:19–21; Rev. 6:14–17.
One Trouble at a Time
By Edward Everett Hale
NEVER bear more than one kind of trouble at a time. Some people bear three kinds,—all they have had, all they have now, and all they expect to have.
God’s Pillars in Tried Souls
By Phillips Brooks
WHEREVER souls are being tried and ripened, in whatever commonplace and homely ways, there God is hewing out the pillars for his temple.
The Rich Christian’s Generosity
By Dr. John Hall
It is a shame for a rich Christian to be like a Christmas box, that receives all, and nothing can be got out of it till it is broken in pieces.
Repentance Before God
By Chateaubriand
It is necessary to repent for years in order to efface a fault in the eyes of men; a single tear suffices with God.—Chateaubriand.
INTELLECTUAL FAULTS OF CHILDREN.
PARENTS need by no means feel assured of the intellectual bias or inheritance of their children in their first three years, or even later in those of slow mental development, for the mental life is as shifting as the pictures seen through the revolving kaleidoscope. Who has not seen a child, of course one constantly under observation, develop in succession the traits of speech and thought that belong to recent known, and to one knows not how many unknown, ancestors? The scroll is slowly unrolled from week to week. The mother is almost in despair over some obnoxious tendency which repeats itself day after day, when, lo! the scene shifts, and, even without special correction, that idiosyncrasy gives place to one less troublesome. These more or less distinct clews of the mental make-up are all she can rely upon in anticipating the future and counteracting wrong tendencies. Early childhood, the period when occasional flashes show such traits to be latent, is the time to gently apply proper counter training.
Consider, for instance, curiosity. Fénélon says, "The curiosity of children is a natural tendency which goes in the van of instruction," or, as Perez prefers to say, "in the van of pleasure." This being true, do not chide the little one, or think him doomed to endless trouble through life, simply because his desire to know and see everything keeps you continually gratifying his wants or answering his questions. It is curiosity that leads the baby to grasp for everything in sight and "even sigh for the moon," that makes your little boy talk constantly in interrogations, or get into all manner of mischief in the nursery. It is a method of intellectual growth common to all children of any mental capacity, and, though very troublesome, should never be punished as a fault unless a malicious element is evident. . . .
The habit of untruthfulness, while very startling to the mother, by no means betokens in a young child great moral obliquity. Little ones are much puzzled by the different qualities of things, and often from ignorance and perplexity tell lies without meaning to do so. Remember, too, that a bright child will tell stories with no other purpose than the unconscious exercise of the imagination. A habit indulged by grown people that tends to still more confuse children, is that of deliberately deceiving them just for the foolish purpose of witnessing their surprise. It is a pernicious habit and always deserving of rebuke. The parents who so far forget themselves as to do this need never expect their children to be truthful. The virtue of truthfulness is so essential and the habit of lying so dangerous that too much watchfulness cannot be taken over a child who persists in the bad habit. Do not be stern with children for unintentional faults; encourage them to confide in you, and teach them that you are greatly grieved by their mistaken statements.
Do not be discouraged because your child cannot give attention or keep consecutively employed at any one thing for a length of time. It does not imply feebleness of mental grasp or a weak will, but rather immaturity of the faculty of attention. The few observers in this field conclude that five or six minutes is as long as the infant of one year can fix its attention, and so on up to thirty minutes for the primary scholars of six years. The rule that gives rest to the mature mind by a change of work does not apply to young children, who cannot be provided with work of a very different character. As they grow older, this faculty of attention is easily developed.—Babyhood.
HOW TO TEACH CHILDREN.
By Indian Witness
How to teach children to control their fears and rise above them is a serious problem to most parents. Many children suffer intensely from fear. Sometimes they confess to this, but oftener they are too proud to make it known. Sometimes they know what they are afraid of, but oftener they are seized with a kind of nameless and unreasonable dread, which they cannot make anyone understand about. It is a part of that strange childhood land which grown people cannot enter or even see into. Most parents intend to be patient with timid children, and to deal wisely with them.
"You don't like to be alone in the dark, dear?" says the parent. "Well, then, I'll leave the light burning." "Afraid to walk past the policeman? Nonsense! Well, then, sister will walk with you past the corner."
These are instances of the usual way of treating timidity in children. It is a cheap and prompt way. It removes the present occasion for fear, but it does not remove the cause of fear by striking at the root of the weakness in the child's nature, for the little one continues to weep in the dark, and to tremble at the blue coat of a "cop," until he outgrows childish things. But is there not a better way by which children may be established in those principles which are the foundation of courage?
"What is it, John?" asked a father, who had heard a stifled sob from the trundle bed, as he passed the sleeping room of his young children. "Is anything the matter?" he asked, coming close to the bedside.
"No, papa, not now."
"What were you weeping about? Are you ill?"
"No, I was afraid."
"Do you want me to tell you a story?"
"Yes, please."
So the father sat down on the side of the bed, and in the darkness told the story of the Good Shepherd, how he led his sheep by the still waters, and in the sweet, green fields, and how the little lambs fed and frolicked all day long, and at night one lamb got lost on the lonely hillside. He was all alone in the dark and cold, far away from the fold and the kind mother sheep. But when the Good Shepherd counted his sheep, he only found ninety-nine instead of a hundred, so he knew that one was lost, and he started out to hunt for him. The Good Shepherd did not say that he was too tired to go, or that it was a long, long way, and dark and dangerous; besides, after all, it was only one of the little lambs that was lost, and a very foolish one, who did not know enough to keep close to its mother, and such a silly little lamb was not worth taking so much pains for. Oh, no, the Good Shepherd thought no such thoughts! His heart was full of pity and longing. He hastened to shut up the flock in their warm fold, and he took his staff and went his lonely way out into the darkness of the cold night. He climbed the bleak hillside over the jagged stones, and through the thorny branches, stopping every now and then to listen, and to call to the little lost lamb, for he knew him by name.
At last he hears a faint bleating. It is the lamb—the poor, perishing, almost dying little lamb. The Good Shepherd reaches out his tender hands, he gropes in the darkness, and lays hold of the shivering, trembling little one. He takes him in his arms, and holds him close to his breast, and he folds his mantle about him; then down the bleak hillside, and over the rough way, the Good Shepherd brings home the lost lamb rejoicing.
The story ended, a thrilling silence fell between the father and his little son. Thus was it broken:—
"Do you know, John, who the Good Shepherd is?"
"Jesus."
"And who is the lost little lamb alone in the dark?"
No answer. John had the obduracy usual to the natural heart when it came to squarely owning up his lost estate. The father pressed the matter by another question.
"Is it Dave or Charley, asleep in the other bed?"
"No."
"Well?"
"It is I, papa!" he cried at last with a burst of emotion, flinging both arms around his father's neck and kissing him. Then the little fellow nestled down in the bed, his soul filled with the peace which comes from the confession of God our Saviour.
"Do you care to have me stay any longer?" asked the father.
"No, I am not afraid now."
"Shall I light the lamp?"
"No, I don't want anything now."
Here, then, was a genuine religious experience. The child had felt his need and laid hold upon his Helper; had been empty and alone, and now was full and well-companioned, because he had crept into his Saviour's arms, and felt his tender love.
The father had put his child upon the right principle; he had given him instruction that not only quelled the passing fear, but established him in that faith which can quell all fears, whether of life or death.—Indian Witness.
TOBACCO AND EFFECTS.
By Edwin P. Gleason, M. D.
1. Tobacco used to excess lessens the natural appetite. A great smoker is seldom a great eater. 2. It impairs digestion, causing dyspepsia, besides other derangements of the digestive system. 3. It causes inflammation of the mouth and throat, destroying the purity of the voice. A smoker is rarely a good singer. 4. It is a cardiac irritant, causing palpitation and "tobacco heart." 5. It causes nervous depression, diminished virility, melancholy, and impaired memory. 6. It injures the sight and hearing. This follows more often from smoking than from chewing. 7. It is hostile to the most perfect development of the body; an athlete in training is not allowed to use tobacco. 8. Its426most marked effects are in the young, in whom it arrests development of the highest nervous centers, and stunts the growth. 9. Its use is an expensive habit. 10. It is offensive to many. Have we the right to make ourselves disagreeable? 11. It creates a thirst which in some may be satisfied with alcoholic drinks. As this subject is in the direct line of my studies and observation for several years, and as I have used tobacco for twelve years, until recently, I write only what I know and have seen.—Edwin P. Gleason, M. D.
JUST BE GLAD.
By James Whitcomb Riley
O HEART of mine, we shouldn't
Worry so!
What we've missed of calm we couldn't
Have, you know.
What we've met of stormy pain,
And of sorrow's driving rain,
We can better meet again
If it blow.
We have erred in that dark hour,
We have known.
When the tears fell with the shower,
All alone—
Were not shine and shower blent
As the gracious Master meant?
Let us temper our content
With his own.
For we know not every morrow
Can be sad;
So, forgetting all the sorrow
We have had,
Let us fold away our fears
And put by our foolish tears,
And through all the coming years
Just be glad.
—James Whitcomb Riley.
OUTLOOK OF ALASKA.
By J. C. Cantwell
BY J. C. CANTWELL.
WHAT the general public knows of Alaska has been mostly gained by reading such works as "Our Arctic Province," "Icebergs and Glaciers," "The Land of the Midnight Sun," and other contributions to the literature of Alaska, whose very titles send cold shivers down one's back, to say nothing of the impression of utter desolation which is made by a perusal of the text.
After an experience of nine years in Alaska—along the coast line from Sitka to the Arctic Ocean, and among the beautiful Aleutian Islands—notwithstanding the fact that my trips were all made during the summer season, I am forced to the belief that if all the authors who have written about this country were sincere, the majority of them must have been suffering from some sort of disease which requires a very warm, dry climate as an environment. Alaska has not that sort of climate. Neither has Washington, Oregon, or British Columbia, but it would be equally as just or sensible to condemn either of these localities on account of the preponderance of rainy days during the year, as undoubtedly has been the case with Alaska.
It is not within the scope of this article to discuss the climate of Alaska except in a general way, but incidentally it may be stated that it is not all an ice capped, glacier-girt, or inundated land. There are regions now easily accessible in which a man can make a comfortable living, where the sun shines as brightly, and the grass is as green, and the wild flowers grow as profusely six months in the year, as in the majority of the Northern States. In these places the winters are not nearly so severe as in Montana, Idaho, or any of the New England States.
The reason for this state of things is exactly similar to that which makes the northern countries of Europe inhabitable, and which preserves the perennial green covering of the Emerald Isle. What the gulf stream does for the western and northern countries of Europe is done in exactly the same way by the great kurasiwo, or Japan current, which washes the southern shores of the Aleutian Islands, and, bending southward and eastward from Kodiak Island, across the Gulf of Alaska, dashes in a warm, life-giving flood against the shores of Southeastern Alaska.
The "bad lands" of Alaska—the ice-capped mountain region, where the big glaciers are found, and where the country will probably never afford the means of sustaining any but a meager population—lie to the north of the Sitka region, forming the eastern and northern shores of the Gulf of Alaska. This is the region of high, inaccessible, and eternally snow-clad mountain ranges. Here Mount St. Elias marks the highest point on the North American continent, while Fairweather, Crillon, La Perouse, and a half dozen others not yet named, are fit mates to their grand neighbor. Flowing to the southward, down the slopes of this Alpine region, numerous glaciers follow the valleys and pierce through all obstacles till they reach the inland waterways made so familiar by tourists' descriptions. The sight of these ice streams, the crashing of their faces as they break and fall into the water, the floating bergs, apparently about to hem in and destroy the steamer, all tend to leave in the minds of people who see only this part of Alaska an impression of desolate grandeur not easily effaced.
But the glacier region of Alaska is comparatively small. It is, in fact, a rare incident, and not a type of the general topography of the country.
Leaving the region just described and steering westward, the traveler leaves all trace of this forbidding landscape behind, and his first glimpse of land some 500 miles west from Sitka is of low green hills, softly rounded and clothed from base to summit in verdure. Patches of timber darken the valleys and mark the course of innumerable streams, while every islet—almost every rock—has its clustering growth of trees. From Kodiak Island westward the timber on the Aleutian Islands is confined to the smaller species of trees. Willow and larch thickets still cling to the lower valleys, but all the rest of the country is covered during the summer with an exceedingly rich growth of grass. During the winter months the grasses gradually die, until nothing is seen except the thick mantle of moss which grows everywhere in Alaska.
Such, in brief, is a description of this almost virgin country. What has been done in the way of testing its capabilities to support man since its occupation?—Almost nothing. People have gone to Alaska year after year and waxed rich in the fur business, and have actually suffered for the want of fresh meat and vegetables, simply because someone, who probably knew nothing about the matter, had stated in an authoritative manner that cattle could not live through the winter, or that vegetables would never come up if planted in this country. Of late years, especially during the last decade, many of these false theories have been exploded, and it is now known that on nearly every island of the Aleutian group, among the Shumagin Islands, and even in such exposed situations as Chirakoff Island, excellent results can be obtained by judiciously planting any of the hardier vegetables.
I mention Chirakoff Island in this connection because of its isolated and unprotected situation. The island is about 200 miles from any very large body of land to protect it from the winter storms, which we have been led to believe as a frequent occurrence along the whole Alaskan peninsula, and in itself composed427of low, undulating plains, in no place attaining an altitude of more than 600 or 800 feet above the sea. Yet on this island, during the month of July last—to be exact, on the second day of the month—I found in a garden that had been planted near the beach the preceding spring, a flourishing assortment of as fine vegetables as I have ever seen in any place.
There were potatoes, turnips, radishes, carrots, beets, spinach, onions, and lettuce. The growth of these vegetables had been accomplished without the aid of any fertilizer, and they showed no effects of climatic repression whatever, but were, as before stated, of excellent quality.
At Sitka, Juneau, Wrangel, Kodiak, and every other place where a reasonable amount of care has been exercised, all these vegetables have been easily raised. The local market at Sitka is now well supplied with vegetables, which a very few years ago it was thought necessary to import from the United States.
I mention these facts in regard to the raising of vegetables, not with a view to encourage emigration to Alaska for the purpose of opening up the country to agricultural pursuits, but simply to show that settlers who come to this country to engage in the many other lines of work and business which the region affords, will not be entirely dependent for the necessaries of life upon what is brought here from the South.
Another popular fallacy which the experience of recent years has exploded is that cattle and sheep cannot survive the winters on the Aleutian Islands. Some ten years ago the late Lieutenant Schwatka passed through the Aleutian Islands on his way home from the exploration of the Yukon. He was so impressed with the luxuriant growth of grasses on the islands that he gave it as his opinion that not many years would elapse before this country would be the grazing ground of countless bands of sheep destined for the markets of the Pacific States. Schwatka's ideas were ridiculed, and he suffered from the odium heaped upon him by the oldest inhabitants, who told him that, while he might know a good deal about exploring Arctic regions, he was densely ignorant of the first principles of sheep raising. One of the most strenuous objections to sheep raising on the Aleutian Islands was said to be the moist character of the all-pervading moss. Sheep, the wise men said, would succumb to foot rot before they would become acclimated. Schwatka, being possibly aware that his knowledge of sheep was not inexhaustible, discreetly dropped out of the controversy. But during the time of the great seal controversy, when the presence of the naval fleets in Bering Sea caused a demand for fresh meat, large bands of sheep were transported to Alaska and put on the islands to shift for themselves. I have never heard of a single case of foot rot occurring there, and the only trouble experienced was in the case of a small band of thirty sheep, which were placed on a small island in Oonalaska Harbor, and which had to be removed to a larger island on account of the lack of moisture on their first grazing ground.
Cattle can be successfully raised on the Aleutian Islands, as has been proved beyond question. At Kodiak, Belkofsky, and Oonalaska the Alaska Commercial Company have for years maintained herds of cattle with very little trouble, it being possible for them to live in the open during nine or ten months of the year. It is quite true that the lack of continuous sunshine sometimes prevents the easy-going Aleut from making a sufficient quantity of hay during the summer to last until spring. But other localities are similarly afflicted, and the more energetic inhabitants meet the difficulty by means of silos.
It does not appear improbable that cattle would thrive as well on ensilage in Alaska as they do in other moist climates. The time for raising sheep or cattle for a market has not yet arrived, but when the demand is made, it will be found that the Aleutian Islands will be able to supply it. Already, however, a beginning has been made in this direction, by Mr. Feeney, on a small island near St. Paul, Kodiak Island. Mr. Feeney has a band of cattle here that he proposes to herd for the purpose of furnishing fresh meat to the employees of the Karluk salmon canneries, on the other side of Kodiak Island. The project will undoubtedly prove successful.
Meanwhile there are springing up in Alaska many industries which are new, and other older ones are being extended so rapidly that employment for settlers who are not afraid of work is assured.—San Francisco Chronicle.
THE SERPENT'S VENOM.
A PHYSICIAN, while talking with a group of friends, remarked: "It is common to hear people speak about poisonous serpents. Serpents are never poisonous; they are venomous. A poison cannot be taken internally without bad effects; a venom can. Venoms, to be effective, have to be injected directly into the circulation, and this is the manner in which the snakes kill. Their venom, taken internally, is innocuous.
"Another popular error is the supposition that a snake bites. Probably no creature in the world provided with teeth and jaws has so little power of biting. The jaws are not hinged, but are attached one to the other by cartilage. Thus a snake can have no leverage in opposing one jaw to the other, and could not in this manner pierce the skin. The fangs are driven into the flesh by a stroke, and not by a bite. A snake is harmless unless in coil. From its coil it throws its head and body forward, and strikes or hooks its fangs into the object aimed at. The entire work is done with the upper jaw, the lower jaw having nothing at all to do with it. A man striking a boat hook into a pier furnishes an example of the way in which a snake strikes. Biting is a physical impossibility."—New Orleans Times Democrat.
THE RESPONSIBILITY.
By New York Sun
INSTEAD, therefore, of putting the responsibility for liquor on God, we advise the clergy to lay the whole blame for it on men, as a dangerous luxury which God compels them neither to produce nor consume any more than he compels them to do anything else. Moreover, it is questionable whether the influence of the clergy in preventing the abuse of liquor would not be strengthened greatly if they refrained wholly from its use themselves. Besides, being usually emotional men of sedentary habits, they are better off without such a stimulant. The habit of drinking, dangerous for everybody, is especially dangerous for them, in their own persons and in the example they set for other people.—New York Sun.
HELP ONE ANOTHER.
BEAR with each other's faults. Love one another and help one another. Pity each other. Bear each other's burdens. We are all moving on a great march, and when we stand revealed to Him, and He to us, and we to each other, we shall look back with unspeakable sorrow at the jars and the discords and the uncharities of this mortal life; and for every sweet kindness, for every loving helpfulness, for every patience, and for every self-denial and self-sacrifice, we shall lift up thanks to Almighty God.—Selected.
The Waste of Human Life
By H. Macmillan
We mourn for the awful waste that goes on in the world, the extinction of species, the myriads of seeds that never germinate, of blossoms that fall in their perfection, and of fruits that never set or ripen; but there is no waste equal to the waste of human life.—H. Macmillan.
"Where is your faith?" O anxious soul,
Round whom Time's billows fiercely roll,
"Where is your faith?" In calm-faced skies,
To be obscured when clouds arise?
"Where is your faith?" In peaceful seas,
Whereon your barque doth ride with ease—
Of present safety art assured
By past dangers safely endured?
"Where is your faith?" In human friends,
Whose aid with your strong effort blends?
Ah! when the waters rise and fall,
Responsive to the thunder's call,
And fitful waves of circumstance
Wash from your hold most cherished plans,
"Where is your faith?" he asks again,
When human strength is spent in vain.
"Where is your faith," when Christ appears
Unheeding of your danger, fears?
He distant waits that he may lead
You to himself, to tell your need.
To him (perhaps unconsciously)
Faith runs in perils on life's sea.
Then why not always, helpless one,
Repose thy faith in him alone?
"Have faith in God," nor let it find
In the mere facts of tempered wind,
Or foreign strengths, or tamed sea,
Or where beside, a place for thee.
Notice we not Christ's absence from
Our life till winds and tempests come?
They rouse our fear, and thus his care
Is wakened by our urgent pray'r.
—Christian Standard.
THE NATIVES OF ALASKA.
By William Wells
BY WILLIAM WELLS, LL.D.
THE natives of Alaska are a remarkable study in many respects. Indians, in our understanding of the word, they are not. Old navigators among the islands on the coast declare that they have again and again seen Japanese junks wrecked on the coast, carried thither evidently from the Asiatic side by the famous Japanese warm current that makes all southeastern Alaska so different from the interior beyond the mountain range, where everything becomes Siberian in character. These people have also the features, habits, and the peculiar skill of the Japanese; and, like them, when trained in the ways of civilization; are mostly kind and inoffensive. Like the Japanese and Chinese, they are extremely fond of games of chance. As our gamblers have cards they have what are called "gambling sticks." These are small cylindrical pieces of wood carved in antique style, and the game consists in guessing which one of these sticks will come out first or last when shuffled and thrown down on the ground on a board. In this simple game they will, when excited, risk all they have in the world, even to home and wife and children—for the father has limitless power over these, even to selling them into slavery for life.
They have extremely strange ideas of a Supreme Being and a future state. These are so involved with all sorts of superstitious notions that it is difficult to tell what they really believe. They believe in witches, however, and fear them greatly. In this matter they are very cruel. They will accuse young girls of being witches, and scourge them till they sometimes die because they are supposed to have caused the severe illness or death of someone. They have what they call "medicine men," who are mere impostors, and use no remedies for the sick, but simply practice incantations. Failing in this they accuse some person of having interfered with and destroyed their influence by witchcraft. In their turn the medicine men are frequently whipped to death when they fail to cure their patients by their incantations. It seems quite inconsistent that human beings so sensible in many respects should be so wrong headed in this.
They seem in many respects fatalists, and blindly wedded to their ways. They submit quietly to whatever comes, and their relatives pay no attention to them and let them die. When death comes, the body is usually burned. Hence their cemeteries contain not their bodies, but their ashes, which they place in urns as the ancients did. The dead body is never taken out of the house by the door, as this would bring bad luck; an opening is made for the occasion in the back part of the house or hut. In many of these superstitions these people resemble the Orientals—thus proving again that they are of a different origin from our own red-skinned and long-haired savages.
Another peculiar custom is that of making a great feast and giving presents on the occasion of a funeral ceremony, and then raising great carved poles near the door as monuments. They will often leave all they are worth to be expended in this way at their death, instead of dividing it among relatives. The widow is treated very cruelly among them, and is often persecuted to death. At the funeral feast they use a great deal of an intoxicating liquor which they have learned from sailors how to make. It is made out of flour and molasses, fermented so as to be strongly intoxicating. It finally kills a great many of them. . . . They never desire flour and molasses for any other purpose than to make this vile liquor. . . . A small flask of whisky will buy more from these poor creatures than almost any other article that can be offered to them.
They are wonderfully stolid and indifferent to things that are going on around them. They sit all day by their wares and never say a word. You may buy or not buy, as you please; and in one case, when we had not the right change, the woman would not take the most trouble to get it, nor would she accept gold or a banknote; it was the exact price in silver or no sale. Thus we were forced to run around and get change or do without the article. Sometimes the women who were selling would wrap their faces in their blankets and take no notice of anybody until nudged into activity. One day we saw an Indian woman sitting in a squatting position, perfectly immovable, so long that we were absolutely undecided whether the figure was alive or dead, and only settled the doubt by going close to her.—Northern Christian Advocate.
POPULATION OF ALASKA AND ITS MISSIONS.
THE annual report (1890) of Governor Knapp, of Alaska, states that the population of Alaska is about 50,000, composed of 6,500 whites, 1,900 creoles, 2,900 Aleuts, and 3,500 civilized and 35,000 uncivilized other natives.
At Sitka is a Presbyterian Church, with 300 native communicants, and an excellent Industrial Board School, with 170 pupils, of whom 106 are boys and 64 girls.
The Presbyterians have missions at Sitka, Juneau, Hoonah, Haines, Fort Wrangle, Klawack, and Howkan, with 20 teachers, 437 native church members, 450 pupils in mission schools, and 537 pupils in Sunday schools.
The Swedes have three missionaries at Unalaklik and Yakutal.
The Church Missionary Society of England has three missionaries at Nuklukahyet and Buxton.
The Protestant Episcopal Church has a missionary at Auvik, on the Yukon River.
The Moravians have nine missionaries at Bethel and Carmel.
The Woman's Home Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church has two missionaries at Unalashika.
The Friends are supporting at Douglass City five missionaries.
There is an independent mission at Metlaktahla.
The Roman Catholics have two missions, one on the Yukon River and one at Juneau. The Russo-Greek Church reports seventeen parochial schools.
The Talents
THE TALENTS. By M. C. Wilcox. A brief essay on "The Parable of the Talents," showing that the talents represent the various gifts of the Spirit which God bestows as he will upon those who are consecrated to him, with the duties and blessed privileges involved therein. Bible Students' Library, No. 77; 16 pp., price 2 cents.
VIEWS OF NATIONAL REFORM.—Bible Students' Library No. 3, 13 subjects treated; price, 15 cents, postpaid. Address, Pacific Press, Oakland, Cal.
CHRISTIAN RECREATION.
By Ellen G. White
WE are seeking for purity and holiness of life, that we may at last be fitted for the heavenly society in the kingdom of glory; and the only means to attain this elevation of Christian character is through Jesus Christ. There is no other way for the exaltation of the human family. Some talk of the humiliation they endure and the sacrifice they make because they adopt the truth of heavenly origin. It is true that the world do not accept the truth; unbelievers do not receive it. They may talk of those that have embraced the truth and sought the Saviour, and represent them as leaving everything, giving up everything, and making a sacrifice of everything that is worth retaining. But do not tell me this. I know better. My experience proves it to be otherwise. You need not tell me that we have to give up our dearest treasures and receive no equivalent. No, indeed! That Creator who planted the beautiful Eden for our first parents, and who has planted for us the lovely trees and flowers, and provided everything that is beautiful and glorious in nature for the human race to enjoy, designed that they should enjoy it. Then do not think that God wishes us to yield up everything which it is for our happiness here to retain. He requires us to give up only that which it would not be for our good and happiness to retain.
That God who has planted these noble trees and clothed them with their rich foliage, who has given us the brilliant and beautiful shades of the flowers, and whose lovely handiwork we see in all the realm of nature, does not design to make us unhappy; he does not design that we shall have no taste and take no pleasure in these things. It is his design that we shall enjoy them and be happy in the charms of nature, which are of his own creating.
Many delight in lovely paintings, and are ready to worship the talent which can produce a beautiful drawing; but where do those who devote their lives to this work obtain their designs? where do the artists get their ideas of things to put upon canvas?—From nature's beautiful scenery,—from nature, only from nature. Individuals devote the entire strength of their being, and bestow all their affections, upon their tastes in this direction. Many withdraw their minds from the beauties and glories of nature, that our Creator has prepared for them to enjoy, and devote all the powers of their being to perfection of art; yet all these things are only imperfect copies from nature. Art can never attain the perfection seen in nature.
The Maker of all the beautiful things of nature is forgotten. I have seen many who would go into ecstasies over a picture of a sunset, while at the same time they could have the privilege of seeing an actual and glorious sunset almost every evening in the year. They can see the beautiful tints in which nature's invisible Master Artist has, with divine skill, painted glorious scenes on the shifting canvas of the heavens, and yet they carelessly turn from the Heaven-wrought picture to paintings of art, traced by imperfect fingers, and almost fall down and worship them. What is the reason of this?—It is because the enemy is almost constantly seeking to divert the mind from God.