THE sweetest thing that God can give
To me, in all my earthly life,
Is not in freedom from its ills,
Its pain and sorrow, toil and strife,
But, O! it is the grace I need
To live for him from sun to sun,
Through pain and weariness and loss,
And say, “Thy will, not mine, be done;”
To do my work, to bear my cross,
With all its stings that so annoy,
And still to trust him in the grief,
As perfectly as in the joy.
The Purpose of Life
By Amy E. Light
“FORENOON, afternoon, and night;
Forenoon, afternoon, and night;
Forenoon, and—what!
The empty song repeats itself—no more?
Yes, this is life. Make this forenoon sublime,
This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer;
And time is conquered, and thy crown is won.”
Two young men, both early in life's forenoon, sat one summer evening under the branches of an elm in one of our Southern States. As they watched the setting sun, they talked of life—its possibilities, aims, and ambitions. One said, “Although poor, obscure, only a clerk, I am determined to overcome all obstacles, and gain wealth and reputation and power.” The other said little, but thought a great deal.
The first realized his ambitions. From a poor clerk he came to be the president of several corporations and a man of wealth. He made financial gain the object of his life, and by his perseverance and shrewd business methods succeeded. That his scheme caused thousands to suffer was no concern to him. But in old age the consciousness of having gained wealth alone did not satisfy, and on his death-bed he felt that he had succeeded in business, but failed in life.
The other young man sat long after his friend had left, and the moon had risen and throw'n its soft radiance over the earth. One close enough would have heard the following soliloquy:—“What purpose has God in my life? Poor, unknown, comparatively unlearned, of what use can I be to the world? We have heard that the Father has a work for each one. That he had express purposes in the lives of some, it is plain to see—Moses, Daniel, Job, and Christ, for instance.” Long he sat and thought, but finally continued the argument with himself, thus: “What was the purpose in the life of these men? For what did Christ leave heaven and come to this sin-cursed earth?—That he might save us from our sins. True, his work made it possible for the billions that have lived on the earth to escape death. But he would have done as much for one. Surely I can be the means of bringing some soul to him. Then life will not have been a failure.” Naturally came to his mind the following verses:—
“There's never a rose in all the world
But makes some green spray sweeter;
There's never a wind in all the sky
But makes some bird wing fleeter;
There's never a star but brings to heaven
Some silver radiance tender;
And never a rosy cloud but helps
To crown the sunset splendor;
No robin but may thrill some heart,
His dawn-like gladness voicing.
God gives to all some small, sweet way,
To set the world rejoicing.”
“A little spring had lost its way
Among the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scooped a well,
Where weary ones might turn.
He walled it in, and hung with care,
A ladle on its brink;
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that toil might drink.
He passed again, and lo! the well,
By summers never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues,
And saved a life beside.”
From that night this young man lived a life of service to God and humanity. He comforted the sorrowing, cared for the sick, closed the eyes of the dying, aided the destitute, and pointed all to the Lamb of God. His life was so noble and Christlike that scores were won to Christ by his efforts. His influence was also felt in educational circles. He was a teacher.
At his death he was mourned by friends, students, contemporary teachers, and those he had befriended. His name was not written in the hall of fame, but it was surely in that better place—the Lamb's book of life. And was not his conception of the purpose of life correct?
There are many and varied aims; social, political, financial, and literary careers are marked out by many, and success in the chosen line is made the one object of life. What should be the purpose of life if not to glorify our Creator and bless our fellow men? This was the object in Christ's sojourn here. It matters little what our profession is, whether our sphere is large or small, if we accomplish this.
Rev. J. R. Miller in his excellent little book, “Summer Gathering for Winter's Need,” gives the following helpful advice to the young:—
“Youth should gather into its heart the thoughts, lessons, memories, and truths which will make both warmth and life when old age draws on. Read good, cheerful, helpful books that will leave lofty and inspiring thoughts in your mind. Especially read the Bible daily. Study it, and have its divine words in your heart. Do beautiful things,—things of love, of unselfishness, of helpfulness,—things that are true, honorable, just, pure, holy, and lovely. Gather about you, too, gentle and worthy friends. Above all, gather into your soul the sweet friendship of Jesus Christ, and let his words bless your lips and fill and sweeten your heart.”
“Not a day should pass in which we do not lay up something for the future,—some new bit of knowledge, some new lesson of experience, some new word of God to rest upon in trouble, some new joy of pure friendship to warm the heart, some new strength received by overcoming, some new meaning of love or beauty. This is the way to grow strong and rich and good and helpful.
“Then this world is a place to gather in for heaven. Our crown there will be woven of the blessedness of obedience to God, and service of love for our fellow men.”
If this is followed, will not the forenoon be sublime? and the afternoon will naturally resolve itself into a psalm of praise to God for life and its opportunities. And how easily at night the prayer will shape itself, “Let my works live before thee;” “I have not lived unto myself.” “Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.” Then, indeed, is the purpose of life accomplished.—Amy E. Light, in The Southern Watchman.
The Old Father's View
TWENTY years ago a discouraged young doctor in one of our large cities was visited by his father, who came up from a rural district to look after his boy.
“Well, son,” he said, “how are you getting along?”
“I’m not getting along at all,” was the disheartened answer. “I’m not doing a thing.”
The old man’s countenance fell, but he spoke of courage and patience and perseverance. Later in the day he went with his son to the Free Dispensary, where the young doctor had an unsalaried position.
The father sat by, a silent but intensely interested spectator, while twenty-five poor unfortunates received help. The doctor forgot his visitor, while he bent his skilled energies to his task; but hardly had the door closed on the last patient, when the old man burst forth: “I thought you told me you were not doing anything,” he thundered. “Not doing anything! Why, if I had helped twenty-five people in a month as much as you have in one morning, I would thank God that my life counted for something.”13
“There isn’t any money in it, though,” exclaimed the son, somewhat abashed.
“Money!” the old man shouted, still scornfully. “What is money in comparison with being of use to your fellow men? Never mind about the money; you go right along at this work every day. I’ll go back to the farm and gladly earn money enough to support you as long as I live.”
“That speech,” I said to a friend of mine, one who has spent many years as a conspicuously successful teacher, “went into the bones of the young doctor’s life, and strengthened him for a life of unselfish usefulness.”
“Ah!” said the professor, “that one speech was worth years of text-book teaching! And yet it was made without an instant’s preparation.”
“Far from it,” I answered, quickly. “It had taken sixty years of noble living, struggling against sin and self, pressing forward in the paths of righteousness, bearing the cross, following hard after the perfect Man, to prepare that old Christian to make this speech. Then the moment came, and he was ready to teach the glorious lesson.”—Our Young Folks.
When Things Go Wrong
By Benjamin B. Keech
Do not spend your time in fretting;
Spend it rather in forgetting
Little things that wound you so.
Do not let the whole world know
That you'd rather sit a-grieving
When you might be out relieving
Pain and care. Rise up, be true!
Just find something good to do.
When your days are full of sighing,
Don't give up, but keep on trying
Some good cause to help along.
You will soon forget the wrong
That the dismal days are bringing,
If you tune your work to singing.
When your skies are dark in hue,
Just find something good to do.
— Benjamin B. Keech.
Nervous Capital Used Up
By W. R. C. Latson
VITALITY is the available working energy of the body; it is to the body what steam is to a locomotive. Between the human body and the locomotive there is, in many respects, a perfect analogy. The locomotive is merely a mechanism by means of which the energy latent, or stored up, in coal and air and water may be converted into energy exhibited as heat and work. Now, the human body, like the locomotive, is a mechanism for the conversion of energy. Food and air and water contain stored-up energy. This energy, latent in the food, air, and water, is converted by the human body into energy manifested as heat and work. Exactly as the power of the steam-engine depends upon the amount of energy it can produce from its fuel, so the power of the man depends upon the amount of energy he can produce from his food. That is to say, “vitality” as applied to a man corresponds exactly to “horse-power” as applied to a steam-engine.
The body, then, acting upon food and air and water, produces. Certain acts and influences draw upon that vitality. The greater the amount of vitality made, and the less uselessly expended, the more will there remain to be expended in the chosen work of the individual.
The whole matter may be reduced to a very simple equation. Let us suppose the amount of vitality generated by the body to be one hundred per cent. In moving about, in digestion, respiration, etc., one uses up, we will say, eighty per cent of this vitality, which is, so to speak, his nervous capital. This leaves twenty per cent which he can devote to his chosen work. Such a condition of things means physiological balance; that is, health. But what if he devotes to work more than twenty per cent of the vitality made by the body; in other words, if he overworks? In the case of a man who expends in his daily work vitality equal to thirty per cent of that made, there is left for the bodily functions only seventy instead of the eighty per cent which they need. The vitality-making organs deprived of ten per cent of the motive power needed for their work, produce less than the one hundred per cent needed by the body as a whole—say ninety per cent. Of this ninety per cent, thirty is being consumed by the daily work, leaving for the motive power of the organs only sixty per cent, instead of the eighty required. That is to say, the organs which produce vitality need vitality for their motive power. If this motive power be deficient, they will make less and less vitality until the zero-mark is reached. This zero-mark means insanity, nervous prostration, or, at the very least, such a lowering of the vital resistance that the body falls a prey to some wasting disease. Occasionally, the enforced rest enjoined by the disorder affords the vitality-making organs a chance to “catch up.” Usually, however, the illness is fatal, owing to lack of constitutional strength. Few persons, save those who have suffered from it, have any idea of the horrors of nervous prostration. Few persons realize that the causation of nervous prostration may be expressed by a simple formula, as explained above.—W. R. C. Latson, in Success.
The Effects of Impure Air
By Mrs. D. W. Rose
MLEBLANC states that the odor of the air at the top of the ventilator of a crowded room is of so noxious a character that it is dangerous to be exposed to it, even for a short time. The organic matter of respired air “contains minute cellular bodies named putrefaction cells, and in sick rooms it is associated with pus cells and other emanations of disease.” Tomlinson says: “If respired air be passed through pure water, the water soon exhibits all the phenomena of putrefactive fermentation.”
There are scores of churches whose sextons, after keeping all means of ventilation closed during service, when the congregation has dispersed close the doors, turn the key, and leave the foul air safely housed, to be rebreathed when the worshipers shall return. Such places always have a disagreeable odor. The most thorough airing will scarcely be able to rid them of the offensive smell that has been produced by the decaying organic matter that permeates the breath. Who has not seen this loathsome vapor condensing on the walls and windows, and trickling down in fetid streams?
“As much as forty-six per cent of organic matter has been found in plaster taken from the walls of a hospital ward in Paris.” Statistics tell us that it is not uncommon to find air in public assembly rooms, and even in dwellings, containing from ten to fifteen times the amount of carbonic acid found in pure air. Of this gas Tomlinson says: “It acts as a poison. If we attempt to inhale it, by putting the face over the edge of a beer vat, the nostrils and throat are irritated so strongly that the glottis closes, and inspiration becomes impossible.” One need remain but one-half hour in an unventilated room to have inhaled six hundred times of the foul and poisonous fluid; the blood will have carried it to every portion of the body, and the entire system will have become saturated.
Who has not felt his mental and bodily energies deadened, and found himself unable to resist the chilliness which seizes him upon emerging from such a place? “Indeed, the effects are visible in the expression of the features; either a relaxed sallow paleness of the surface, or the hectic flush of fever is observable.” Headache often follows, which may last for hours and end in a bilious or nervous attack.
In a report of the army sanitary commission, it is proved beyond question that the excessive mortality from consumption among the soldiers was due to lack of ventilation in the barracks; a reformation brought with it a material decrease in the number of cases of this malady.
Fresh air is one of nature’s germicides, a great natural disinfectant. Yet some persons are as much afraid of fresh air as victims of hydrophobia are of fresh water. “I myself,” says Benjamin Franklin, “had formerly this prejudice, this aerophobia, as I now account it, and dreading the supposed dangerous effects of cool air, I considered it an enemy, and closed with extreme care every crevice in the rooms I inhabited. Experience has convinced me of my error. I now look upon fresh air as a friend. I even sleep with an open window.”
In order to maintain a degree of purity of the air necessary to perfect health, Wilson and others insist that we must be supplied with three thousand cubic feet of pure air per capita per hour, and that a space of at least one thousand cubic feet should be allowed per capita in buildings permanently occupied. If gas is burned in the room, each jet requires the same provisions as are necessary for five persons. We inhale on an average twenty-six cubic inches of air (I wish I could say pure air) at a breath. Oxygen is food to our lungs, blood, and tissues, and should be as free from poison as any other food of the body. “We shun impurity in every form,” says Steele, “we dislike to wear the clothes of another, or to eat from the same dish; we shrink from contact with the filthy, and yet sitting in the same room, inhale their polluted breath.”—Mrs. D. W. Rose, in Good Housekeeping.
Thy Cloud That Meets Me
By George Matheson
Thy cloud that meets me in the day Is but the shadow of thy wing, Concealing from my sight the way, That faith alone may homeward bring.
Thy fire that meets me in the night, Is the full brightness of thy face, Revealing through my tears a light That leads me to thy dwelling-place.
— George Matheson.
A Journey in Northwestern Rhodesia
By W. H. Anderson
Notes From My Diary
W. H. ANDERSON
July 23. This was a usual winter day in Bulawayo. The strong trade-wind was blowing a cloud of dust through the town. The train for the Zambesia was due to leave at 7 A. M., and as I was late, it left on time. The guard's whistle blew as I paid for my ticket. I hastily bade my wife and child good-by, and boarded the train a little after it was in motion. An uneventful ride through uninteresting country in a compartment with five Italians who could speak no English, brought us to Mbanji, one hundred and sixty-six miles from Buluwayo. This is the end of the Cape Cairo line at the present time. We were met at the station by a native who had lived with us at one time. He seemed glad to see me, and taking up my blankets and rifle, showed us a retired place in the bush near the water, where we could sleep for the night. We had a very comfortable night, and felt quite rested at dawn.
July 24. I found in making up my loads that I had five carriers and six loads. I spent the morning looking for a carrier, but found none. In the afternoon I found a boy who agreed to carry thirty-five miles for me. I hired him, but, as it was near the Sabbath, we could not start until Sunday. I arranged everything for an early start on Sunday morning.
ON THE VELDT
July 25. We had a pleasant Sabbath, with prayer and social meeting at the beginning of the Sabbath, Sabbath-school at 10 A. M., and prayer at the close of the day. One of the boys was drawing water from a well, and the rope broke, and our bucket was lost. I borrowed a rope to go down after it, but the rope was too short. We then cut a long pole and dropped it down; by going as far as the rope would reach, we could then go down the pole the rest of the way, and were soon in possession of our bucket.
July 26. We started very early and walked six miles to Jacob's old kraal. Here we found plenty of water in the river, so we stopped for a while. We had an early dinner, and went on again at 1:30 P. M. We traveled ten miles, and made our camp for the night. I found that two of my carriers were not in the camp when I arrived. I inquired about them, and learned that one of the boys from the mission had remained behind to watch the boy that I had hired at the end of the railroad. The mission boy soon arrived, and reported that the other had run away with his load. Thus my bread, sugar, salt, caramel coffee, fruit cocoa, dried apples, towel, and soap disappeared. As salt was very scarce in the country north of the Zambesia, we made the entire journey without it. I was able to get a little sugar at Victoria Falls by paying thirty-five cents a pound for it. I had to wash without soap, and use an undershirt for a towel.
July 27. I walked on to Wankie's kraal. We bought some corn-meal and a few peanuts for food. I had some fever. I think it was due to traveling in the hot sun. The country was very hilly, almost mountainous, so it was hard climbing for the carriers with their loads.
July 28. We left Wankie's early in the morning to go across country to the coal-mine. I had breakfast with an American contractor who is working on the railway. I saw the native commissioner about the boy who stole my load. He promised to arrest him, and to recover the goods. A short walk in the evening brought me to the coal-mine. I was kindly received by the manager, Mr. Price. He gave me a good dinner and a comfortable bed. These two things are always gladly received here. This was the last night in a bed for many weeks. After leaving Wankie's, we put down the blankets on the ground where night overtook us, and slept until morning. There are no hotels in this country, and if there were, it would be too expensive for a missionary to put up at them.
July 29. I spent most of the day looking round the coal-mine. There are forty or fifty thousand tons of coal on the embankment. They will start screening soon. It is a good quality of soft coal. I did not enter the mine, as it is very dirty. There is a great scarcity of native labor at present. The natives have two objections to working at the mine. One is that their food is very coarse, and as a result many have dysentery. They also object to going into the hospital when they are ill. The mine managers thought it would be a very humane thing to erect a hospital, and have a doctor and a trained nurse to look after the sick. This was done in a very creditable manner. But the superstitious native has a horror of going into a hospital. He prefers to stay in the bush to die alone, rather than go into what he calls the “house of death.” He also prefers the native remedies to the white man's medicine. As a result of these conditions it is difficult to get the required labor for the mines. Missionaries often make the same mistake of trying to bend everything to the white man's ideal, which is often nearly as far from perfection as is the native's ideal.
July 30. I started on at 10 A. M. In two hours I came to the Daka River. We stopped for dinner here. I met the post cart from Victoria Falls. It was a Scotch cart drawn by eight oxen. When they arrived at the kraal to exchange the span, it was found that the herdboy had lost the oxen. There was a delay of three hours until they could be found. This was sufficient for the passengers to miss the train that left for Buluwayo that night, and they had to wait four days for another. One must learn to go slowly in this country. If you walk, you can go three miles an hour. If you go on the mail cart, you travel two miles an hour, and pay fifty cents a mile for the privilege of being delayed.
July 31. We traveled only about ten miles, and stopped for the Sabbath. We saw three hyenas in the road in the afternoon. One of the carriers shot at them, but as usual he missed the mark.
August 1. We had our usual Sabbath services. We enjoyed much of the blessing of God. It is good to praise the Lord in the woods. Here we were far from civilization, and miles from the habitation of man. There are no natives in this section of the country, but God seemed very near. We had a praise service to thank him for his care thus far on the journey.
August 2. We walked ten miles before breakfast, and camped on the Mtetsi River. This is a nice stream, and has some beautiful farm land in the valleys. We had a long walk, fifteen miles, in the evening, and encamped at a post kraal. There was no water after we left the river, so we were thirsty. We begged a drink at the post kraal, and learned that the water was three miles off the road. We preferred thirst to going after it.
August 3. We had a pleasant early morning walk of three miles. There was a well near the road where we stopped for breakfast. The water was scarce and dirty, but it was that or nothing, so we had to use it. I met three white men at this well. They were on their way to15Buluwayo. One of them was an American, who had been north of the Zambesia in search of gold. Being taken ill with blackwater fever, he became delirious, and was picked up by the natives as he was lying unconscious in the veldt. They carried him to the mission station, where kind Mr. and Mrs. Chapman nursed him back to health. After breakfast we had a long walk, and a longer one at night brought us to Victoria Falls. Two man-eating lions had been making trouble near this place. I am thankful to say that they did not come where we were.
August 4. We went to see the falls early in the morning, but we could see only very little of them on account of the spray. The river is at least six feet lower than it was when I was here two years ago. The drought that affected South Africa last year must have extended to the head waters of the Zambesia also. It was the first time that the carriers had ever seen a large river, and they were filled with wonder. We walked four miles up the river to the crossing, but we had to wait all day for a boat. It was very hard for the carriers, as they had no food. The river is one mile across. One of the boys asked if the sea was much larger than this river. He wanted to know if I thought he would be seasick in crossing. I had dinner and spent the evening with Mr. Clark, with whom I was acquainted. He is ferryman and forwarding agent for all supplies that enter Northwestern Rhodesia at this place.
August 5. I met Mr. Van Blerk this morning. He kindly offered me his horse to ride to the district commissioner's camp. I declined, as the distance was only four miles, and I was accustomed to walking. I found that Mr. Sykes, the district commissioner, had visited our station near Buluwayo, and was in perfect accord with our plan of work for the natives. He kindly gave me much information, and assistance in the way of a guide and carrier. I met Dr. Middleton here. He has been over all this country as far north as the Congo. He gave me much information in regard to the country and the people. He travels as I do, on foot with carriers. We left in the afternoon for Kalomo, one hundred miles to the northwest. This is the present capital of Northwestern Rhodesia, and the residence of the government officials. The country here is wooded, with sand ridges and open valleys along the rivers. The water is scarce along the native foot-path, but is plentiful along the wagon road. I prefer the foot-path, as it is ten miles shorter.
August 6. We spent most of the day in a dirty Batoka village. I bought eggs, peanuts, and meal for food. These people were carrying their water three miles. They make their gardens among the sand ridges, as they are too lazy to dig in the harder black ground along the rivers. Last year there was little rain, so there is great scarcity among them. I camped for the night in an old store. The wind was high, and it was very cold. It is contrary to my custom to sleep in such places, but under the circumstances I thought it would be justifiable. I soon found my mistake, as it was alive with vermin. I preferred the cold outside.
August 7. I traveled about five miles in the morning, and camped at a mission station for the Sabbath. It is under control of the French Protestant Society. There were six boys in attendance at the school. There is a native teacher in charge. He has a comfortable house and clean surroundings.
August 8. We had a good Sabbath. The Lord came very near and blessed us abundantly. We studied the experiences of Paul on his way to Rome. One of the boys had fever.
(Concluded next week)
The Annual Meeting in Hungaria
By Guy Dail
GUY DAIL
The territory which we term the Hungarian Mission consists of that part of the Austria-Hungarian empire which is known as the kingdom of Hungary. It has a population of nineteen million three hundred thousand. Austria is itself a separate mission field, known as the Austrian Mission. Austria, with Bosnia, contains twenty-eight million inhabitants. The empire-monarchy of Austria-Hungaria comprises “five kingdoms, one principality, two archduchies, eight duchies, two margravates, four counties (provinces ruled only by counts), and several lordships—in all fifty-six States.” Twenty different languages are spoken here; half a dozen coinages are in use. There is no common bond of nationality or speech to hold the people together; they were formerly compelled to combine against the Turk, but now the Hapsburgs alone hold them in a state of confederation.
GENERAL VIEW OF BUDAPEST
The empire is seven hundred miles wide from north to south; from east to west it is nine hundred miles long. It contains two hundred and forty-one thousand square miles. It is made up of the three mountain systems known as the Eastern Alps, the Bohemian-Moravian mountains, and the Carpathians; the plateau of Bohemia; and the vast plain of Hungary.
Among the cities are Prague, “the town of the hundred towers,” with four hundred and ninety-six thousand inhabitants; Trent, where the great church council assembled in 1545-63; the strong fortress of Peterwardein, called after Peter the Hermit, as he here marshaled the thousands who went on the first crusade (in 1095); the two famous watering-places of Carlsbad and Toplitz; Salzburg, where Mozart was born in 1756; Crawcow, near which are the famous Wielicza salt-mines, whose galleries are more than fifty miles in length, containing a “chapel with pulpit, crucifixes, and statues that have been cut out of the solid rock salt;” on the Danube, that mighty commercial artery of the country, and lying in the plain where the three mountain systems of Austria meet, is Vienna, the capital of the empire, whose one million seven hundred and sixty-two thousand inhabitants are supplied with pure Alpine water by an aqueduct fifty-six miles long, while a little farther down is the twin-city capital of the kingdom of Hungary—Buda on the right bank, and Pest on the left bank of the river, with seven hundred and thirty-two thousand people.
There are three well-defined climates in the empire. On the northern slope the chief crops are wheat, rye, hemp, and flax; farther to the south is the middle zone, where we find maize and wheat on the plains, and the vine on the southern slopes; while on the Mediterranean slopes the vine, maize, and the olive, and the silkworm are found, and even tropical plants grow well in some parts. There are forests of oak, ash, elm, and beech; in the extreme south the orange, lemon, and pomegranate flourish. There are mines of iron and silver and lead and quicksilver and gold, and especially of rock salt.
On the Hungarian steppes, “troops of horses pasture in battle array; herds of oxen are scattered over the plain; buffaloes rest in the swamps. Now and then a stork or long-shanked crane is seen.”
Such, in part, is the great country of Austria-Hungary, a land where European and Asiatic, and German and Magyar, and Slav and Italian live together as neighbors, the one often compelled to learn the speech of the other. Be the mother tongue Czech, as in Bohemia, or Polish, or Ruthenian, or Romanic, we know that the message is to be proclaimed in all these languages.
The state religion of Austria is Roman Catholic. There is said to be complete toleration, but we find Catholicism here, as everywhere, intolerant toward true16Protestants. Although Hungary is mostly Catholic, yet there is no established church. Hungary contains three million six hundred thousand Protestants.
After this brief glimpse of the country, we will now speak of our own work. Here we have a membership of one hundred and fifty-eight; one hundred of these are Hungarians, thirty are Germans, and twenty-eight are Rumanians. Representatives of these three nationalities, as well as a few Servians, were at the annual meeting of the Hungarian Mission field, which was held in Arad, November 4-8. About ninety of our brethren were here. There was a good outside attendance at the evening meetings. Five were baptized in the Maros River. One of these was a Servian, to whom a knowledge of the truth was brought by a backslidden brother, who would draw disciples unto himself. He taught the obligation of the Sabbath, but held to various unscriptural doctrines. He visited the Servian village, and found there a company of about twenty people who had at one time belonged to the Nazarenes, but had formed an independent organization of their own. They heard from this man about the binding claims of the law of God, but were also taught that it was unnecessary to pay tithe, “as the Adventists do,” and they were asked to receive certain meaningless forms and ceremonies into their worship. They saw that some things which he taught were true, and accepted them; they also imbibed some errors. They believe that it is wrong to say that we should not eat swine’s flesh; that we do not need to pay tithe; and that a minister of the gospel should work without any salary. It is now two or three years since this company first became acquainted with our work, and some of them have all this time been convinced that we have the special truths for this time. Those who believed as we do did not wish to go forward and be baptized until their fellow worshipers would come with them. But one of these, who has believed the message ever since becoming acquainted with it, resolved to go forward, not waiting for the others. This is a very intelligent, simple-hearted, devout young woman, about twenty years of age, whose calm and peaceful face reveals a deep Christian experience. We hope that her example will prove an encouragement to the other members of the little group, and that erelong others will follow in her steps.
As to the statistics of this field: During the last nine months (the first three quarters of 1903) the tithe was three hundred and seventy dollars; Sabbath-school donations amounted to fifty-four dollars; First-day offerings to seven dollars; thirty-four persons were baptized, and four received by vote.
Our force of Hungarian workers has been augmented by the coming of Brother K. Reifschneider, from South Russia, a licentiate; there is also but one ordained minister, Brother Huenegardt, the superintendent; there are five Bible workers.
The resolutions passed expressed thankfulness for God’s blessing during the year; recommended the renewal of our earnestness in scattering our literature, both health and evangelical; called upon us to remember the poor fund; to sell as many as possible of “Christ’s Object Lessons,” for the help of the Friedensau School; and to increase the First-day offerings, which were dedicated to the East African Mission.
The outlook for Hungaria was never brighter for our work. We believe that this is a promising field. Although there are many things here which one does not have to contend with in countries that have not been under Catholic influence, yet our brethren are of good courage, and go forth to their work with more determination than ever to succeed. We are just now entering Budapest, and hope that a good church may be raised up there.
A word may not be out of place about the Austrian Mission. The field is as yet young, and newly entered. We have about twenty-one members here, Brother L. Mathe is in charge. He is assisted by a Bible worker, in Vienna. Elder Conradi, en route from Hungaria to Germany, was able to speak to a small company of fifteen in that city. There are two other Bible workers in Austria. Canvassing is not permitted there at all. In two places near the German border, the truth crossed over, and so we will have a few additions to the Austrian Mission during the present quarter, from this source. There is not so much liberty granted to our workers here as in Hungaria. During the first nine months of 1903, the tithe of the Austrian Mission was one hundred and twenty-one dollars, Sabbath-school donations, seventeen dollars.
We trust that these two large mission fields will prosper. Let them be kindly remembered by our people.
