Our English Bible frequently loses clearness and force because of faulty punctuation, and because of the superstition which invests the existing punctuation with something of sacredness, and the fear lest any suggestion toward change in the punctuation should bring us within the scope of the judgment pronounced (Rev. 22:18, 19) against “any man” who “shall add unto these things” or “take away” from them. We may bear in mind that the Bible is one thing, and our impressions about the Bible, perhaps derived from tradition, perhaps evolved from our own brain, are quite another. It is not necessary to remind the intelligent reader that the Bible, in the original documents, knew nothing of punctuation or chapter or verse, and that all these, as also the several versions, are merely the result of human judgment.
Many passages are unmeaning, or contradictory, which become harmonious and significant with a better punctuation, or with a better division of the chapters or verses. In Rev. 22:1, 2 we read: “And he showed me a pure river of water of life, . . . proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits.” Here is an impossible situation. How can the tree of life be in the midst of the street, and, at the same time, on either side of the river? But put a comma after the word “Lamb,” and a period after the word “it,” and ignore the division into verses, and let the passage read: “And he showed me a pure river of water of life, . . . proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb, in the midst of the street of it. And on either side of the river was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruit,” etc.
An instance somewhat similar is found in Ps. 32:3, 4. As it now stands, verse 3 conveys no meaning: “When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long.” One is reminded of the days when it was customary to line the hymns (as I have often myself done when preaching to the colored in South Carolina during the war), and when a minister, not addicted to logical sequence, lined as follows:—
“The Lord will come, and he will not.”
When this line had been sung, he read the next:—
“Keep silence, but speak out.”
How is it possible for a man to “keep silence,” and, at the same time, to be “roaring all the day long”? But put a period after the word “old;” the psalmist is emphasizing the fact that there was no relief from his inward disquiet and remorse, either in silence or in vociferous speech. “When I kept silence, my bones waxed old. Through my roaring all the day long (for day and night thy hand was heavy upon me), my moisture is turned into the drought of summer.” Turning one’s thoughts inward in silence, or roaring to one’s fellow-men, all does no good, but “I acknowledged my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid . . . and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin.”
In John 12:27, 28 we read: “Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour; but for this cause came I unto this hour. Father, glorify thy name.” The words, “Father, save me from this hour,” as now punctuated, convey no meaning; but change the period to an interrogation point, and the whole passage is irradiated. Our Lord says: “My soul is troubled, and what shall I say, what shall I ask for, what prayer offer? Shall I offer the prayer, ‘Father, save me from this hour’?—No, since it was for this very cause, in order that I might pass through this crisis and agony, the price of human redemption, that I came unto this hour. I may not offer this prayer, but I may rather pray, ‘Father, glorify thy name.’” If the verses are read with a rising inflection on the clause, “Father, save me from this hour?” implying that the clause is both a quotation and a question (and perhaps with a word of explanation thrown in), the passage becomes full of meaning, and gives us an insight into the mysterious mental struggle through which our Lord was passing. . . .
In Ex. 20:5, 6 very much is lost for want of a comma: “I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; and showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments.” As the passage is now punctuated, it would appear that “the thousands of them that love me” has reference merely to thousands of persons. But this is not its meaning. The Revised Version very properly inserts a comma, and reads thus, “showing mercy unto thousands, of them that love me and keep my commandments.” And the margin reads, “or a thousand generations,” and refers to Deut. 7:9, “The faithful God, which keepeth covenant and mercy with them that love him and keep his commandments to a thousand generations.” The comma inserted9after “thousands” implies an omission, and the words omitted are “of generations,” so that the contrast is between God’s visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation, and, on the other hand, showing mercy unto thousands of generations—so much more does God love to exercise mercy than to visit iniquity, so much more copious and all-compassing and inexhaustible is his love than his severer attributes.
When a passage seems difficult, or self-contradictory, or devoid of meaning, we may well remember that God intended that all the words of his servants should be intelligible. The plain man, destitute of profound erudition, is warranted, as he reads his Bible upon his knees, in asking God so to illumine his judgment and common sense that he may remark what are the natural divisions and the proper punctuation.—S. S. Times.
WHO ARE THE RIGHTEOUS?
By Geo. H. Heald
BY GEO. H. HEALD, M.D.
“THE eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry.” Ps. 34:15. This verse might, at first glance, seem to offer very little consolation to the poor, burdened soul, who has vainly tried to free himself from a load of sin. The eighteenth verse of the previous psalm reads: “Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy.” Mercy has been defined as the disposition to treat an offender better than he deserves; and it is those only who have merited punishment by transgression that need mercy. Justice bestows rewards upon the deserving; mercy bestows favors upon the undeserving. This difference between justice and mercy is brought out in Rom. 4:4, 5: “Now to him that worketh is the reward not reckoned of grace, but of debt. But to him that worketh not, but believeth, . . . his faith is counted for righteousness.” That is, what a person receives in payment for work, is not a favor, but a debt; it is his by right. This is dealing on a basis of justice. God, on the other hand, deals on a basis of mercy. A person who has done nothing of merit believes, and his faith is counted for righteousness.
God is not only merciful (full of mercy) (Ex. 34:6), but he delights in mercy (Micah 7:8); and not only that, but he takes pleasure in those that hope in his mercy (Ps. 147:11). And that is what Abraham did. The record says he believed God (Rom. 4:3); but how did he believe? Verse 5: “But to him that worketh not, but believeth on Him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness.” Abraham believed that God would justify, or account righteous, the ungodly. In other words, he hoped in God’s mercy; and we have the record that this faith was accounted to him for righteousness. Verse 3. So Abraham’s righteousness was a gift from God, because he realized his fallen condition, and looked to God for mercy.
The Saviour in Luke 18:9-14 contrasts with the sinner the man who has outwardly kept the law: “And he spake this parable unto certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others: Two men went up into the temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers or even as this publican. I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess. And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner. I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other.”
Paul was of the class who kept the letter of the law perfectly. “Touching the righteousness which is in the law, blameless.” Phil. 3:6. Yet he counted this all loss that he might win Christ, not having his own righteousness which was of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ. Verses 8, 9. He saw that, in order to have the righteousness of faith in Christ, he must give up his own righteousness, must come as a sinner, believing on Him that justifies the ungodly, must come hoping in God’s mercy.
In another place Paul shows the attitude of the Jewish nation to righteousness. “But Israel, which followed after the law of righteousness, hath not attained to the law of righteousness. Wherefore? Because they sought it not by faith, but as it were by the works of the law.” “For they being ignorant of God’s righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God.” Rom. 9:31, 32; 10:3. Contrasted with this is the righteousness of the gentiles: “What shall we say then? That the gentiles, which follow not after righteousness, have attained to righteousness, even the righteousness which is of faith.” Rom. 9:30.
From Romans 4 we have learned that those who exercise faith are accounted righteous. The record in heaven will show, not a life of sin, but a life of obedience. How can such a record be true? None can be justified by the law, for “by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in his sight; for by the law is the knowledge of sin.” “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” Rom. 3:20, 23. The answer is given in verses 24 and 25: “Being justified [accounted righteous, the record reading as tho the law had always been kept] freely by his grace [favor] through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus; whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his [Christ’s] righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God.” Rom. 3:24, 25. Therefore, when the record is changed in accordance with a person’s faith, it must record not his disobedience, but Christ’s obedience. In other words, one who accepts Christ’s righteousness will have a record as spotless as the Son of God.
No wonder, then, that this gift should be called, by way of pre-eminence, the free gift (Rom. 5:17, 18); for it is the gift of God. It is true that “the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Rom. 6:23); but righteousness and life are inseparable. See Gal. 3:21. “For as by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of One shall many be made righteous.” “Therefore as by the offense of one, judgment came upon all men to condemnation; even so by the righteousness of One the free gift came upon all men unto justification of life.” Rom. 5:19, 18.
We know of no better words with which to close than those of the Saviour in Matt. 5:6: “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness; for they shall be filled.”
Michigan University, Ann Arbor, Mich.
At Which Window Shall We Sit?
By Julia H. Duffie
BY JULIA H. DUFFIE.
I remember of once looking at companion pictures which to me were very impressive. One picture portrayed the front of a fine residence with a young lady seated at the window looking out upon the beautiful scenery. Above the well-kept lawn rose stately trees, with happy birds apparently flitting about or singing among the branches. Near by were attractive flower beds; beyond lay fine meadows and fields, and still farther on the landscape was bordered by rising hills. The lady seemed much pleased with the delightful prospect.
The other picture displayed the rear of what might have been the same dwelling, but, O, what a different scene! The yard was lumbered with rubbish, a shabby pen held several large swine, who were reared against the side of the pen, with head and forefeet projecting over the top, while their open mouths indicated that they were making anything but agreeable sounds. At a distance were scraggy trees and a dismal-looking pool of water.
At the window on this side of the house also a young lady was seated, absorbed by the view from that point. And what a melancholy, dejected face she wore! And no wonder. Everything at which she looked was well calculated to cause depression.
These two pictures were designed to represent two characteristics: One the habit of looking or thinking on pleasant themes, and the other that of pondering only the dark side of matters.
There are always two classes of subjects upon which the mind can rest.
While it is often necessary to look upon matters just as they are in order to see what steps can be taken to improve them and bring about better conditions, yet the glance upon10the disagreeable side should not be prolonged any longer than is necessary to accomplish these ends or to cultivate proper sympathy by those who may be afflicted by these unfortunate conditions.
It is possible to control the mind in this respect largely: while if unrestrained it sometimes loses the power to discern that which is of more cheerful, hopeful nature. We read, “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee.” Yet none can hope to have peace granted him without making an effort to keep the mind stayed on the channels which lead to God.
Every good and perfect gift is from above, and should tend to elevate the thoughts, and lead to peaceful contemplation of divine goodness. Thankfulness for temporal and spiritual provision, the privilege of being useful, admiring the works of God in nature, and the better qualities of those about us, are all topics leading upward, or, using the illustration, are front-window views. Those whose hearts are occupied with busy plans for others’ good and happiness, will find food for pleasant, healthful thought.
But if we persist in sitting at the back window of our lives, we must expect a different prospect. There we will always find swine anxious to gain our ear for disagreeable matter. After employing every measure for the improvement of back-yard conditions, why not take a position from which the most cheerful view can be obtained, and refuse to be annoyed by the inevitable? Please have a seat at the front window.
Battle Creek, Mich.
LITTLE THINGS THAT COUNT.
A GOOD-BY kiss is a little thing,
With your hand on the door to go,
But it takes the venom out of the sting
Of a thoughtless word or a cruel fling
That you made an hour ago.
A kiss of greeting is sweet and rare
After the toil of day,
And it smooths the furrows plowed by care,
The lines on the forehead you once called fair,
In the years that have flown away.
’Tis a little thing to say, “You are kind;
I love you, my dear,” each night,
But it sends a thrill through your heart, I find;
For love is tender, love is blind,
As we climb life’s rugged height.
We starve each other for love’s caress;
We take, but we do not give;
It seems so easy some soul to bless,
But we dole the love grudgingly less and less,
Till ’tis bitter and hard to live.
—Selected.
THAT CHILD'S SINGING.
By Edward A. Rand
BY EDWARD A. RAND.
“WHAT is the good of that child's singing?”
This question came in a complaining tone from a gloomy sick-chamber, its curtains dropped, its close, heavy air pervaded by a strong camphor smell.
By good luck there was one door open.
Up through the open door stole notes sweet and clear, young and hopeful.
“Mirandy,” the woman who waited on the patient, Madame Blair, made no reply. To answer would have been to discuss.
“Save me from discussin’!” was Mirandy’s thought.
“Who is it singin’?” moaned the old woman, determined to get some kind of an answer.
“O, it’s only Jimmy!” said Mirandy cheerfully.
“Jimmy? When I was a gal, we kept still. O, dear! What do children want nowadays to be a nuisance for?”
The wise Mirandy made no reply to this also. She was determined to avoid “discussin’,” to which end an answer would have led.
She went out into the broad upper hall, stepped to an open window, inhaled the sweet, pure air, and held out her hands to the warm sunshine.
“Hullo, Mirandy!” called out a boy down in the yard.
It was “the nuisance” that had been singing, and the sweetest offender imaginable.
“Hullo, Jimmy!” said Mirandy, beaming down upon the boy.
They were firm friends, and Jimmy felt that he must tell Mirandy the latest news, and he held up a book proudly.
“What is it, Jimmy?”
“Bible! Got it for bein’ in Sunday school every Sunday for a year!”
“Good!”
Mirandy now went back to the sick-room, saying to herself: “I wish marm would feel that she needs suthin’ like Jimmy’s Bible. ’Twould do her good, and—and I mean to ax her.”
It was a bold proposition. It was falteringly put in execution.
“Marm—don’t you think—Jimmy has—got a Bible—for a—prize! Just think!”
“Wal!” said the old woman tantalizingly, adding nothing.
Mirandy began again.
“Now—marm—don’t—don’t—you want me to read a—leetle out—of Jimmy’s Bible—jest a speck?”
“Mirandy, I used to read it once, but the promises in it are good-for-nothin’ paper. No, no, you needn’t read it.”
The intention was to benefit the old woman, but it seemed to Mirandy as if her patient were anything but helped and benefited by that proposition. She was quite uneasy, and in a more complaining mood than ever. She had much to say about “perfessin’ Christians” that forgot what they had “perfessed about.”
Mirandy endured it as long as she could. Then she broke out:—
“Marm, you won’t have to answer for any of them perfessers.”
“What, Mirandy?”
“Are you comfortable?” said the wise woman, dodging her companion’s question.
“Comfortable? What did you ax fur? I say perfessers don’t keep their perfections.”
Again Mirandy was wise, and made no reply, but quietly went on with her duties; and the close atmosphere went on, the nervous coughing, too, and the camphor smell.
“Marm is very uneasy,” thought Mirandy, watching the nervous movements in the bed. “It’s a bad sign.”
Sometimes uneasiness is a good sign. When nobody wants to get in at a door, no noise is there; but noise, on the other hand, shows a presence, that somebody has come; and shall the door be opened?
At the door of the old woman’s heart there was an uneasiness, a noise, and it showed that somebody wanted to get in.
Mirandy’s talk about the Bible had set her patient to thinking about a much-neglected Bible, about her duty, about her Saviour. There was a knock at the door of the soul. What would she do?
At last she broke out again:—
“Mirandy, where is that child—the one that was singin’?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he stop singin’ for?”
“I thought you wanted him to stop.”
“I didn’t say that. I see children kept quiet when I was a gal.”
Mirandy now took her turn in keeping quiet.
“I thought—I should think if he was perlite—he’d keep on till he was told to stop—O dear!”
There was a knock still at the door of her soul, and she did not want to hear it. She would rather hear singing.
Mirandy now resolved on a bold movement. She ran downstairs, and then outdoors.
“Jimmy, I’ve heard you sing, ‘I love to tell the story of Jesus and his love.’ Stand in the front door. I will keep all the doors open up to marm’s chamber, and you sing.”
“I love to tell the story,” began a sweet, bird-like voice down at the front door.
“Why, I can’t hear that,” moaned the old woman. “Sounds like a real good old-fashioned song, jest the thing I wanted, but I can’t hear it plain.”
“Shall I bring him up?”
“Why, of course. How am I goin’ to hear unless you do bring him up?” replied the patient querulously.
The boy’s fresh, young, hopeful face appeared in that dusky room like a bright star shining suddenly there, and he began to warble:—
“I love to tell the story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and his glory,
Of Jesus and his love.”
What a change in the thinking of a disturbed but soon penitent soul! Just before the door she saw one like unto the Son of Man. Blood-marks were on his brow, blood-marks on his hands, and blood-stained his patient, loving feet. The room was shadowy, but she could see him. Not for long, weary years had he come so close to the door of her heart; rather, let me put it, not for years had she permitted him to come so near.
The singer went on:—
“I love to tell the story;
For those who know it best
Seem hungering and thirsting
To hear it, like the rest.”
O, it was a miserable door an old pilgrim must open, and the hard vines had overgrown it, and it had seemed as if she never could open it; but it did fall back, and the King of Love came in to be her guest!
She was still, very still that night, and Mirandy could hardly explain it.
The next morning her patient said:—
“Mirandy, jest draw these ere curtains one side. Seems to me I can’t git enough daylight into my soul.”
The curtains were pulled away, and the happy sunshine came in.
“Now you may open the winders, Mirandy. I want to hear the birds sing. I can’t get enough singin’ into my soul.”
Mirandy opened the windows, and the singing of God’s birds came in so richly, gloriously!
A happy face rested on the pillow, and in her soul she was saying, “Seems to me the birds are singin’ jest what Jimmy was singin’, I love to tell the story.”—The Examiner.
VERY SENSIBLE.
By Stephen Signal
One of our lady friends is a sensible woman. This is the way she talks concerning the ups and downs of life; and she is right in her views. We wish every woman had the same independent ideas. She says:—
“It matters not whether my dress is silk or cotton, so long as it is clean. I prefer a clean cotton gown to a dirty silk. Sometimes I have a visitor—a real live, heavy ‘swell.’ He or she finds me in a cotton gown, a shady one at that, whose only merit lies in its cleanliness, but what care I? My gown is cotton. My hands are red, because I do lots and lots of housework, but my brain is just as it always was, and I can hold my own, in spite of the cotton gown and red hands. If a visitor has any idea that I am not the proper person to be on friendly terms with, because I open my door in a cotton gown, it is the privilege of that visitor to walk down the steps and never ascend them again. If my matted rooms do not seem good in the eyes of my acquaintances who possess body Brussels carpets, they need not call. If I can not hang up Landseer’s pictures upon the wall, I am happy to get a handsome chromo in lieu thereof, since it would be worse than folly to go without some sort of ornamentation because the finest could not be obtained.”—Stephen Signal.
THE WORD “STERLING.”
In England money is characterized by the word “sterling,” because in the time of Richard Cœur de Lion money coined in the east part of Germany became, on account of its purity, in especial request in England, and was called Easterling money, as all the inhabitants in that part of Germany were known as Easterlings. That was the origin of the practice of designating English amounts “sterling.”—Selected.
INDIA IN 1865 AND 1895.
By S. H. Kellogg
BY REV. S. H. KELLOGG, D.D.
In my work among the people of India this last winter I have been led to contrast the condition of things around me as regards religion with that which generally prevailed when I entered India in 1865. In those days, while, with the memories of the heavy retributions which had been visited on many for their part in the bloody mutiny, we were commonly treated civilly enough, yet no one could point to any evidence of general religious thoughtfulness and unrest in any section of the people. Baptisms there were in those days, but always by ones, twos, or threes; and the missionary had to stand up against an almost invincible indifference in most cases, or a violent and contentious opposition in others.
Now the situation is very different. It is not, indeed, true that either indifference or violent opposition is lacking to-day. It is still true that the great mass of the people are wholly engrossed in seeking after the necessities of life, and live as if there were nothing for a man hereafter more than for his cow or buffalo. And then, among certain classes, the intensity of opposition of Christianity seems even greater than in those days. The so-called “Reform Hinduism” of the Arya Samaj is a striking illustration of this. It is, indeed, a question whether the deepest secret of the opposition of the Aryas to Christianity is religious or political; I certainly think it is quite as much the latter; but, everywhere, these even rival Mohammedans in the violence of their opposition to the religion of Christ.
Nevertheless, even the opposition has become unlike that of former days, an indication often of apprehension and alarm at the influence of Christian ideas among the people. For if there is still prevailing indifference, it is not, as thirty years ago, an unbroken indifference. At the two extremes of the social scale, especially, there are such evidences of awakening interest in the great facts and truths of Christianity as rightly fill many with joyful anticipations of large blessings in the near future for the sinning and suffering millions of India.
First are to be noted the present extensive movements toward Christianity among the low-caste peoples of North India. Very much has been written in the home papers about the great ingathering in the Methodist missions here; and there is no doubt that these brethren have received a very large number of low-caste people in the past few years. These low-caste people can not well be lowered, and are almost sure to be advantaged in a worldly way by the profession of Christianity; and there is thus naturally the greatest danger that many will be led to ask for church membership from purely earthly motives.
Still, making all allowance for an admixture, in this and similar cases, of an element which is only Christian in name, the fact still remains undeniable that there is throughout North India a continually increasing inclination among the low-caste peoples to consider the question of becoming Christians; and, in almost all missions, a largely increased ratio of additions to the church.
On the other hand, the great number of societies among the educated classes, more or less like the Brahmo Samaj, repudiating, with more or less completeness, the popular Hinduism, often borrowing many Christian terms and thoughts, betokens among these also a great deal of religious unrest. In some instances, indeed, as especially among the Aryas, the hostility to Christianity is only intensified; on the other hand, not a few show more of the spirit of the late Keshab Chandra Sen—a kindly feeling toward Christians, and the greatest admiration, to say no more, for Jesus Christ. In the last two winters I have been endeavoring to reach such by lectures on various subjects connected with the evidences of Christianity, and have never failed to have an audience which, if not always large, yet has always been accessible, attentive, and apparently interested.
On such occasion, a few weeks ago, in one of our largest stations, I made the acquaintance of a very attractive character in the person of a missionary of the Brahmo Samaj, a man of somewhat over thirty years of age, who, altho he could not admit the deity and resurrection of our Lord, yet seemed greatly attracted by his person and character. He came, while I was there, to the missionary resident in the station, with whom I was stopping, to ask that, if he would get together a few native gentlemen, the missionary would hold a regular Bible class for their instruction, “for,” said he, with much feeling, “I feel sure that the reason that so many are so hostile to Christianity is because they do not know Christ; and if, by study of the Gospel, they can be but got to know him, I am sure no one can help but love him.”
Thus, both among the lowest and the highest in social standing, there is at present an opening here for the Gospel, the like of which could be seen nowhere in this region when I first entered India. The distressing thing is that, to enter these wide-open doors, laborers are so painfully few.—Canada Presbyterian.
THE CHINAMAN'S MORAL ALPHABET.
By Munro Mackenzie
BY MUNRO MACKENZIE.
Did you ever suppose for a moment that the Chinese people had or have a code of morals, that they have any notion whatever of what it is to be good? I remember well before I came to China that I was of that opinion. I thought that where there was no Bible there was no attempt whatever at trying to be good. I was forgetful of the fact that God has his witnesses for righteousness among all peoples. There are many people in China who have far more delight in doing what they think is good than in doing what they know to be bad. You will meet such people among the rich and the poor, among the educated and the illiterate Chinese.
In reading Chinese books and tracts you often meet with very beautiful phrases. You seem to think that you are reading somewhere in the Proverbs of Solomon. You wonder how it is that these Chinamen were able to write such good words. Where did they come from? The best men that ever lived in China, as far as we know, lived four or five, and some, perhaps, seven or eight hundred years before the birth of Christ. These men wrote many words that are very beautiful, and one would think that they had some connection with the Chaldeans of old, from whence Abraham sprang. The writings of these old Chinese sages greatly influenced Confucius, much in the same way that Socrates is said to have influenced Plato. The Chinese people still look to Confucius as the father and founder of their literature, and, indeed, as the keeper and preserver of their nation.
I happened to be reading a Chinese book the other day. It is about the size of Bunyan's “Grace Abounding,” but has a variety of subjects. The author or editor gives the title, “Pointing toward the South Pole. Rules for Life.” There are several things in the book which you might like to read, because it gives one a fairly accurate idea of what an intelligent Chinaman knows. At present I have selected what I call his moral alphabet, which the author has evidently collected from the Chinese classics, that is, from the writings of Confucius and Mencius, and several other writers of fame. But do not suppose that the Chinese live up to this code of morals. It is to them little more than paper morality, for the teaching of the sages has not filtered down into their life. But you will wonder how it is that away from the influence of Christianity such a code of morals was possible. Slightly condensed, it proceeds thus:—
“Be truthful or guileless.”
“Be honest, true-hearted, and sincere.”
“Be a brave man, such as could overcome a thousand.”
“Be an honest leader. Never deceive your men.”
“Be distinguished.”
“A man of ability and talent is worthy of admiration.”
“We praise intelligence.”
“We ought to be liberal in our views, tolerant with those who differ from us.”
“One ought to be patient under persecution, ready to bear his load.”
“Be loyal to your king, and a patriot.”
“Be single-minded, not double-minded.”
“Be scrupulous in small matters as in matters more weighty.”
“Aim at being a man of decision; be like a judge.”
So ends the code. A man who had fulfilled all the above would be an admirable man. But I have never yet read or heard of any Chinaman who has attained to such a degree of excellence, and I do not believe for a moment that any human being, apart from the influence of Jesus Christ, can fulfil even the Chinese sages’ standard of morals.
You will notice that only a very limited number of these noteworthy sayings or counsels apply to all Chinese; the majority are addressed to such as aim at being, or already are, men in the offices of state, or generals on the battle-field, leading armies, fighting the enemies of their country, in order to make the throne of the king and the prosperity of the people secure.—N. Y. Observer.
Mission Work Among India’s Lepers
Much Christian work is being done among the 250,000 lepers in India. During the last ten years 300 persons of this class have been admitted to the asylum at Almora, in northern India, under the care of the London Missionary Society, and about half the number have been converted. At Pithagorah, not12far away, is an asylum under charge of the Methodist missionaries from the United States, and at Umballa, in the Punjab, there has for many years been a leper asylum, conducted by American Presbyterian missionaries. There are also various other homes that have been established for this unfortunate class, and in one of them, Parulia, 55 out of the 67 lepers received became converted to Christ.—Congregationalist.
RESIGNATION
By Margaret Holmes
With maimed and empty hands,
Lord, here am I,
Awaiting thy commands;
I only cry:
What wilt thou have me do
For thee or thine?
The lovely things that grew
For me and mine,
Before my face have died;
Naught now remains
Of hope or joy or pride,
Or sordid stains.
I know some purpose lies
Within thy ways,
And thou hast heard my cries
Through all the days
That dark and darker grew;
And still I cry:
What wilt thou have me do?
Lord, here am I.