p. 7 | Review and Herald, Vol. 88, No. 11. (3/16/1911)

The Crimean War in Prophecy and in the Eastern Question

By P. T. MAGAN

P. T. MAGAN

The next great event in the theater of the Eastern question after the failure of the czar to “persuade” England, was the Crimean war. There are many men still living who remember that Titanic struggle, in which the Anglo-Saxon and the Frank helped Turkey against her old enemy, the Muscovite. It ranks as one of the first wars in importance in the last century, and it was wholly waged and settled on the lines of the prophecy.

From all his negotiations with Sir Hamilton Seymour, the czar concluded that nothing was to be expected of England, and that she was standing her ground as the helper of Turkey. He therefore decided, on his own responsibility, that “the time had come to divide,” or rather to help himself to the property of, the Sick Man. Therefore it was not to be expected that he would remain long without seeking an opportunity of quarreling with any one who stood at the side of the Sick Man’s bed, and seemed to constitute himself a protector of the Sick Man’s interests.

The desired opening presented itself over the interpretation of a clause in the treaty of Kutchuk-Kainardji, which treaty had been forced upon the Ottoman Porte by the empress Catherine II of Russia on July 10, 1774. On sea and on land the armies of the great empress had been victorious. Turkey was overthrown, and compelled to give up Azov and Taganrog to Russia, and to declare the Crimea independent of the Ottoman empire. The seventh clause of this treaty read as follows:—

“The Sublime Porte promises to protect constantly the Christian religion and its churches, and also to allow the minister of the imperial court of Russia to make, on all occasions, representations as well in favor of the new church in Constantinople, of which mention will be made in the fourteenth article, as in favor of those who officiate therein, promising to take such representations into due consideration, as being made by a confidential functionary of a neighboring and sincerely friendly power.”

It does not seem that there was room for misunderstanding in regard to the meaning of these words, or that they were capable of misinterpretation by any man in his right mind. Turning to the fourteenth article alluded to, we find that “it is simply permitted to the court of Russia to build a public church of the Greek rite in the Galata quarter of Constantinople, in addition to the chapel built in the house of the minister; and it is declared that the new church ‘shall be always under the protection of the ministers of the [Russian] empire, and shielded from all obstruction and all damage.’ Here, then, we seem to have two clauses of the simplest meaning, and by no means of first-class importance. The latter clause allows Russia to build a new church in Constantinople; the former allows the Russian minister to make representations to the Porte on behalf of the church and of those who officiate in it. What difference of opinion, it may be asked, could possibly arise?”—McCarthy, “History of Our Own Times,” Vol. I, chap. 25, par. 17.

Clear as the language may be, the czar construed it as “amounting to nothing less” than giving him “protectorate over all the sultan’s subjects professing the Greco-Russian worship; that is to say, the great majority of the inhabitants of Turkey in Europe.”

This monstrous claim was urged by the czar because he could not believe that just then “the western powers were in a position to come to an understanding and to act in common,” and he “hoped to triumph over the divan by audacity.” He argued that if audacity should not be victorious, and if Turkey should go to war unaided, the end would be the certain “conquest of Constantinople, the deliverance of Jerusalem, and the deliverance of the Slavonic empire.” But the czar had not calculated aright. Turkey, seeing that these Russian demands meant nothing more nor less than stripping her of her empire, resolved on “making a supreme effort to sell her life dearly, if it were impossible to save it.”

Then it was that the Sublime Porte declared war, and in desperation the “king of the north” went “forth with great fury to destroy, and utterly to make away many.” Dan. 11:44. The Russian government had been of

the opinion that when it came to the last ditch, the Sublime Porte would yield rather than appeal to the supreme arbitrament of war. But as already stated, Turkey not only showed fight, but went forth to fight Russia with great fury. The real reason for this lay in the fact that some one (England) was telling her all the time to stand her ground, and that she would help her.

For “by an almost miraculous concourse of circumstance, an alliance was formed between France and England, those two ancient and ardent rivals.” Once “Nicholas flattered himself that he could persuade, and carry away the English; but it did not enter into his calculation that Napoleonic France could ever form an alliance with the England of Waterloo, of St. Helena, and of Hudson Lowe. The imprudent confidence to Seymour rendered the strange alliance possible. England took fright, and it was now her turn to urge France with energetic measures. The invasion of the principalities appeared to her to be the first step toward the execution of the schemes of dismemberment.”—Rambaud, “History of Russia,” Vol. II, chap. 14.

But worse things were yet in store for Russia. Great Britain made public Seymour’s report of the interviews with the czar in the ballroom and at the imperial palace. Of course this revelation greatly angered the other powers. They saw in an instant that Nicholas had intended to sacrifice them, “and were stunned by his contempt for all that the others might think or do.”—Id.

Consequently, the “almost miraculous alliance” for the purpose of aiding Turkey was immediately sanctioned by both Austria and Prussia in a “protocol signed at Vienna by the four powers.” “Nicholas had found means to unite the whole of Europe against himself.”—Id.

The astonishment of the czar knew no bounds; but things had set hard against him now, and he could not turn back. In order to gain the sympathy of the Russian people by proclaiming that the war was a religious one with Russia, he published, as the champion of Christianity, an extraordinary manifesto against England and France, in which he said: “Against Russia fighting for orthodoxy, England and France enter the lists as champions of the enemies of Christianity; but Russia will not fail in her sacred vocation. Fighting for our oppressed brothers who profess the faith of Christ, Russia will have but one heart and voice to cry, ‘God, Our Saviour! Whom have we to fear? Let Christ arise, and let his enemies be scattered.’”—“Historians’ History of the World,” Vol. XVII, pages 562, 563.

The result of the war was altogether disastrous to Russia. The Crimea was the principal scene of hostilities, and gave its name to the struggle. The British and French first won the fight of the battle of Alma. The Russians had boasted that the banks of the Alma should be the graves of the invaders. But “the blended vehemence and obstinacy of the English and the French,” or was too much for the Muscovites, who Turkey herself was no mean foe, and Omar Pasha proved himself a leader of remarkable ability and military sagacity.

Later came the charge of the six hundred at Balaklava, which will be famous as long as there is a memory left of English military history. Then followed the battle of Inkerman, and the siege and capture of Sebastopol. Everywhere the allies were victorious, till the Russians were obliged to sue for peace. Once more Russia was humiliated and Turkey was victorious, partly because of her own good fighting qualities, and chiefly because, just as the Bible said, somebody helped this power.

Madison, Tenn.

MRS. P. ALDERMAN

By Mrs. P. Alderman

Calvary

MRS. P. ALDERMAN

I've read the story o'er and o'er, The choicest of my Bible lore, How Jesus died for you and me In pain and shame on Calvary.

I seem so slow to understand A truth so wonderfully grand; Sometimes I get a little view, And then it thrills me through and through.

No other picture charms me so; With holy, radiant light aglow, It brings the ruined sinner up From helpless doom to cheerful hope.

Go tell the story o'er the world, The banner of God's love unfurled, Till all the sin-sick nations see There's life for all through Calvary.

Mount Vernon, Ohio.

Spiritual Sabbath-Keeping

WHETHER the Sabbath becomes a delight or a burden depends upon the spirit with which a man meets it. Indeed, the spirit of the man settles the question as to the benefits to come from any duty he may perform. One man can not understand why his neighbor should prefer the park or the ball-ground to the church, simply because his spirit is different. He has cultivated the higher nature until he loves spiritual things above all others, and to him the Sabbath is indeed a delight. It comes to his weary soul as a reminder of God, and brings him nearer to heaven in heart and mind than does any other day.

To the one who sees not the spiritual character of true Sabbath-keeping, and who does not love the sacred communion it brings between the soul and God, the Sabbath is only a burden. If one has never known the higher and more spiritual aspirations after a worthy and noble life, the Sabbath will be to him only a day for a good dinner, and for lounging lazily about amusement parks, or visiting his neighbors. But to him who hails it as God's own appointed time for special spiritual blessings, for rich communion with the Heavenly Father, and renewing of the divine life of the soul, the Sabbath has a deeper meaning. It brings God near, and gives man a foretaste of heaven.

Can you imagine the reign of heaven upon earth that would surely come if everybody loved the Sabbath, and kept it in the spirit in which God meant it should be kept? We need a revival of true spiritual Sabbath-keeping more than anything else in this world. This would do more to make us a godly people, more to hold our own children true to the Sabbath, and more to convince the world of the truth of our cause, than any other thing we could do.—Sabbath Recorder.

His Own With Interest

By Delwin Rees Buckner

DELWIN REES BUCKNER

O CHRISTIAN, would you dare to bear the shame A martyr’s death would certainly entail? But more the shame should you recant it or quail, Beholding the advancing tongue of flame.

Rise high within the murky air, and higher, Devouring fagots, piled about the stake, Full eager, too, for human blood to slake Its thirst,—a conscienceless and greedy fire.

God in fair Eden garden gave us breath; Should we be loath to willingly return The gift he gave us unto him again, Although he ask it through a martyr’s death?

Christ, honored King of heaven, did not spurn To give his life to ransom fallen men.

Ambato, Ecuador.

Do It When It Needs Doing

THE time to do a thing is when it needs doing. After a plant has died of drought, it is useless to water it. While it needed water, perhaps a little water would have sufficed; now even a deluge would be utterly useless. The time to do a thing is, also, when we are able to do it. The time may come when opportunity will appeal to helplessness, and will necessarily appeal in vain. The ability to do may not long be ours. Perhaps the saddest pictures we can gaze upon are the visions of what might have been; but no tears can blot out our blunders, and no vain wishes can put life into the bloodless limbs of the deeds we did not do. The time to do good is when opportunity appeals to ability; when God and humanity call us to do our best.—Selected.

The Heroism of Everyday Faithfulness

It calls for more real heroism to be true to Christ and his standards in our ordinary, every-day life, than to stand the test of physical martyrdom for Christ in a foreign mission field. To be confronted with the opportunity of dying for our faith is a challenge that usually calls out the best in us. Merely to face the opportunity of living for our faith, and that in what seem to us the commonplace, uninteresting circumstances of a humdrum home or business life, year after year, with no great change in prospect, does not seem like a challenge to heroism at all. For this very reason, it is the more a challenge. Endurance is more heroic than a spurt; it takes endurance to live the Christ-life for thirty, forty, sixty years of uneventful service. —Baptist Recorder.*

Thoughts Become Destiny

By R. T. Edwards

THOUGHTS become words, words become deeds, deeds become habits, habits become character, and character becomes destiny. Therefore watch the thoughts of your mind with the sleepless eye of your mind.—R. T. Edwards.

The Danger of Overestimating Our Talents

Too high an appreciation of our own talents is the chief cause why experience preaches to us all in vain.—Colton.

The Proper Care of the Hair

By Eulalia S. Sisley-Richards

EULALIA S. SISLEY-RICHARDS, M. D.

The hair grows from the skin somewhat as plants grow from the soil. Each hair springs from a single follicle, or root, which is nourished by tiny blood-vessels passing through the deeper structures of the skin. In connection with the hair-roots there are also small glands, secreting an oily substance, which makes the hair glossy, and keeps the skin soft and pliable.

As the gardener would not expect fine plants to grow from a poor soil, so we must not expect beautiful hair to grow from an unhealthy skin. Again, since a healthy skin is dependent upon a healthy body, the person who would have fine hair must first of all give attention to the general health. Fresh air, sunshine, nourishing food, abstinence from stimulants and narcotics, proper dress, exercise, sufficient sleep, personal cleanliness,—none of these essentials must be neglected.

Then, too, ‘some attention must be given to the hair itself. Those who are so fortunate as to possess good hair, are not infrequently apt to neglect it, one charm after another departing, until what was once their “crown of glory” becomes only a source of annoyance and anxiety. In order to keep the hair beautiful, the circulation of the scalp must be rendered active by the daily use of comb and brush. It is also an excellent practice occasionally to dip the fingers into cold water, and rub the scalp vigorously, until it is all aglow with a healthy flow of blood. This one measure, if faithfully employed, will make hair-tonics unnecessary.

Cleanliness of the scalp must also be maintained. Persons with short hair will experience little difficulty in doing this, but not so those whose hair is long and heavy. It is impossible to say just how frequently a woman’s hair should be washed; often enough to keep it clean, is the only rule that can be given. One shampoo a month may be sufficient in some localities; but in dusty, smoky cities, once a week or once a fortnight is none too often. Whenever the hair becomes oily, so that it clings together, one may be quite safe in resorting to soap and water, knowing that oily hair always catches and retains whatever dust may be flying in the air.

In the ordinary cleansing of the hair and scalp, it is best not to use borax, ammonia, or other similar substances frequently advised. Good soap and plenty of water are all that are required. Always rinse the hair thoroughly, so that all the soap is removed. Have two or more soft linen towels, and dry the hair as well as possible with these. Complete the process in the sunshine or before an open fire. Shaking the hair occasionally will hasten the drying. The busy woman, who feels impatient of delay, may improve the time of waiting by reading, writing letters, or even darning stockings. No attempt should be made to comb or brush out tangles until the hair is dry, as the effort only breaks the hair, and makes the tangles more obstinate.

Falling Hair and Baldness

Dandruff, though such a common condition, should never be neglected; for if unconquered, it is certain in the course of time to cause falling of the hair, or even permanent baldness. Dandruff is now recognized as a parasitic disease, the parasites thriving upon an unhealthy scalp. As the disorder progresses, the nutrition of the hair-follicles is interfered with. The hairs become harsh and dry, and if the disease is not arrested, they subsequently die and are shed. The treatment of dandruff must be both general and local. Careful attention must be given to the bodily health. The patient usually has some digestive disorder, in which case every effort should be made to improve the general nutrition, and that of the skin in particular. As a tonic for the scalp, nothing is better than frequent cold salt-water frictions. Since the disease is a parasitic one, a disinfectant lotion of some kind should be used on the scalp.

Remedies for Dandruff

One most effective remedy is crude petroleum in alcohol (one teaspoonful to the ounce). Use sufficient to thoroughly wet the scalp, rubbing it well into the roots of the hair. A soap wash may follow, as the lotion has rather a disagreeable odor. This treatment should be employed twice a week, until the condition is relieved. After two or three applications there is often marked improvement. In order to insure a permanent cure, the treatment should be continued once a week for some little time after the disease has apparently disappeared.

Many persons fail because they discontinue treatment as soon as the unpleasant symptoms disappear.

Resorcin in alcohol is another excellent remedy for dandruff, and may be used in place of petroleum. Fifteen to twenty grains of resorcin to the ounce of alcohol is the correct strength. A few drops of olive-oil or castor-oil may with advantage be added to the solution. Two or three times a week, after washing the hair, rub the lotion thoroughly into the scalp.

It seems almost needless to say that heavy non-ventilated hats are not conducive to a healthy condition of the scalp, and should not be worn.

Hair-dyes or so-called “hair-restorers” or preservatives should under no circumstances be used by those who desire really beautiful hair. These preparations frequently contain substances which are very injurious not only to the hair itself but also to the scalp. In some cases constitutional symptoms have followed the use of poisonous hair-dyes.

Wahroonga, New South Wales.

The Odd Man

He was brought into the ward by the orderlies, and not a man in the barracks was sorry he had “gone sick.” In a few hours there was not a patient in the ward who did not wish he had been taken somewhere else.

He was an “odd man,” without any friends outside the barracks; and he never tried to make any inside. No one ever knew him to do a comrade a good turn, but there were a number to whom he had done many bad ones.

In the ward, the hospital nurse was prepared to treat him more kindly than she did the other patients; knowing his character, she thought to alter it by kindness, but she soon found out her mistake.

In oaths and curses he took delight; believed in neither God nor devil; knew he was dying, and that no one would be sorry when his end came; and yet he lay there in his cot doing his utmost to make all within his reach as miserable as he could.

He would watch the chaplains come and go, listen to their talks with a leer on his face, fling aside the books and papers left on his cot with a contemptuous laugh, and make himself so disagreeable that one and all dreaded coming near him.

But one day a new chaplain came to the ward where the odd man lay,—a chaplain with a bright, cheery smile and face; one who knew nothing about this patient; who spoke to him just a word as he passed between his cot and the next, the cot of a man who had gone sick the day before. The chaplain sat down, and began to talk to the man he had come to see; and the patient whom he had not come to see listened to the conversation, trying, out of sheer curiosity, to hear what he had to say about religion. Certain words fixed themselves on his memory: “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

Those words haunted him; they kept him awake that night, and the next day he was so quiet that the others thought he was dying. They asked him, “What’s up?”

The odd man looked at them, and demanded the name of the new chaplain.

“O, he’s the one at the Soldiers’ Home down in the town! They always look up their men when they’re sick. It doesn’t matter what’s your religion, it’s all the same; if a man goes to the home, he’s looked after.”

“Belongs to the home, does he?” the odd man said; then he relapsed into silence again, and they could get nothing more out of him, except that he wanted to be quiet and think.

Suddenly, in the night, the orderly found him so much worse that he sent for the surgeon, who, on seeing him, thought he could not live until morning.

They listened while his words came slowly and painfully, and found he wished to see the chaplain who belonged to the Soldiers’ Home. In great astonishment they heard the request and granted it.

In the dead of night the chaplain was aroused from his sleep by a loud knocking at his front door, and descending he found two orderlies waiting on the doorstep.

“There’s a man in the hospital wants to see you, sir. The surgeon is afraid he won’t last till morning, and he wants to see you,” emphasizing the “you.”

As soon as he was satisfied that he really was the man wanted, the chaplain started with them for the station hospital. He arrived about two in the morning, and was straightway taken to the odd man’s cot.

Then the man who the day before had been thinking, began to express his thoughts in words:—

“You said God loved—God sent his Son to die—for the world. Does that mean me?”

When assured that the words certainly meant him, he went on talking, slowly and painfully, but very distinctly: “I never knew any one—who loved me. My mother I don’t remember—my father died in penal servitude. I have no relatives or friends. I want you to tell me—what love means—and why God loves me. I have been longing—for some one—to show me—what love means. I have had a hard life—and I have hated, and been hated in return—but I have never loved or been loved before.”

So there, in the hospital ward, in the stillness of the night, with the screen drawn around the cot, the chaplain told the man the old, old story of Jesus and his love; and he told it with such power that the sick man burst into tears.

“God loves me,” he repeated, over and over; “and all my life I have fought against him. Now I am dying; I can do nothing for him—nothing for him who loves me. God loves me. God loves me.”

And then he lapsed into unconsciousness. The chaplain stood waiting with the others to see the end. But the end did not come. After a little time the man roused himself, and, looking straight at the chaplain, he asked, “Are you quite sure God loves me?” with an emphasis on the “me,” which all the listeners noticed.

“Quite,” was the reply.

Suddenly the odd man seemed to receive a new lease of life. He rallied; the crisis had passed for a time.

“I’m going to live,” he said. “I’m going to show I love him. I’m going to do something here, in this hospital, for him who loves me. God loves me. God loves me.”

And when the chaplain left, the odd man was still repeating, “God loves me.”

“You have given him the spur for a time,” the surgeon remarked, as he and the chaplain left the ward together; “but he is a doomed man; he can’t live very long.”

“I’m glad you gave me the opportunity of giving him the spur,” said the other.

The surgeon added: “Just a gleam of happiness in an otherwise unhappy life, and seemingly the only gleam which has come his way at all. What a life! How terrible to go through life unloving and unloved!”

The two shook hands, and parted to go their separate ways. “No wonder,” thought the chaplain, as he unlocked his door, “no wonder that verse took hold of him,—‘God so loved the world.’”

Next day, the men in the ward noticed a great change in the odd man. Each oath and murmur was broken off short,—for however ill this patient was, he could always swear and grumble,—and as the days passed, and he seemed to grow stronger, he was on the watch to do little deeds of love and kindness for the others.

He offered to read aloud to the man in the next cot, whose eyes were too painful to allow him to read. The odd man read well too; he had the rare gift of reading as if he really felt an interest in the article read. He had learned to read in an institution for the sons of men and women in prison, and his reading delighted his comrades. That was one thing he could do for Him who loved him, and he did it well.

The patients asked one another, “What’s up with him?” but each could only shake his head and wonder.

The days came and went, and so did the men in the hospital. The chaplain from the home came and went, too; and the odd man, the unloved one, was the helper of all, the brightest and happiest man in the ward.

As he grew weaker, the men’s eyes grew dim with sorrow; for the odd man had become the odd man from quite another standpoint. He was the man every one loved, and who seemed to love every one.

He told the secret of his changed life and the story of God’s love; and some, who had once tried to be Christians, and had given up in despair, because they had tried in their own strength, thought that if God could help and keep him true, he would help and keep them; and so they turned about, and they were kept, because they trusted in him who is able to keep from falling. One or two others saw in the odd man a genuine Christian, and, thinking there must be something in religion to change a man as he was changed, began to look at God’s love for themselves.

After a time the end came; and suddenly, as he had done once before, the surgeon sent for the chaplain from the home. But although the chaplain came in haste, he was too late.

“He had just a smile on his face, and he stretched out his arm, and raised his hand,” the orderly who was attending him said, while the tears glistened in his eyes. “I thought he wanted something, so I went up, and I caught the words, ‘God loves me. God loves me.’”

“Yes,” said the chaplain, “those were his favorite words. I am not surprised they were his last.” And then he waited; for the orderly, although he had ceased speaking before the chaplain began to talk, seemed from his manner to have more to say. However, the orderly said not a word. The odd man had been in his care; he loved him; he had been led to Jesus through the dead man’s influence, and he could not trust himself to speak.

After a moment or so of silence, the surgeon quietly said: “I think I never saw a more peaceful ending to months of fearful pain. He must have suffered agonies at times, and yet, since that first time when I sent for you, he has never grumbled nor complained. I can almost think that in him was the spirit of some bygone martyr forefather.”

“No,” said the chaplain; “in him was the Spirit of God, sent by our Father who loved him, and whom he loved.”—Bombay Guardian.

GEORGE E. TACK

By GEORGE E. TACK

Arbutus

GEORGE E. TACK

From hills that slope down through the brown-limbed woods, Which catch and toss the roaring wind a-bounding far afield, But gently sway to let the gold ray fall, that broods O’er dead brown leaves that heap o’er spots that yield An odor rare, I brush the leaves aside, And stoop to breathe the fragrant life, Renewed from frozen earth’s and sun-ray’s warming strife.

The dead shall live! When in the wintry hour of despair Thou stoopest o’er the heaps of flowers perished long, Know that the lives now hid in One whose tender care Doth guard, in spring he'll bring them forth with song, All fragrant with the new life’s odors rare, And lovely tinted by the sun’s warm ray, To blossom on the many sheltered, verdant hills of day.

Baltimore, Md.

Protect and Love Dumb Animals

As you move through life, let your influence be felt and your voice raised in behalf of dumb animals. They suffer like you, they hunger and thirst and wish for kinder treatment. They are helpless in the hands of man. God gave us dominion over animals that we might protect them, and be aided and made happy by them. Be lovers of animals, and help to protect them.— Our Dumb Animals.

In Northern China

By W. A. Westworth

W. A. WESTWORTH

(Concluded)

From Peking we went to Tientsin. Here Dr. Miller left us to return to his school work, while we pressed farther north for two more days to Mukden, the capital of Manchuria. In China the trains do not run in the night, except on special occasions, so we had to stop continually at Chinese hotels. As we went to our rest upon beds of brick, or upon a few loose boards laid on wooden horses, with floors of dirt and with no heat, and as we did our best to eat some of the questionable viands which were set before us, we could hardly be blamed for thinking of the warmth and comforts of the homeland; but amid it all the great need of the poor souls about us made us glad we could be here.

Mukden is a bright and thriving city. The climate reminded us of that of New York State. A fertile country, business interests developing, up-to-date methods being introduced, and a certain sprightliness in the manners of the people,—all seem to urge that our work shall be started soon in this important center. Already we have applications for workers to go to this place, and we only wait the arrival of men and means, when we shall gladly begin our work in Manchuria, the most northerly province of China.

Here the Japanese are pressing forward their business; here is seen a Japanese colony with modern homes and buildings being erected rapidly; here is the terminus of a short line connecting with the seaports and with Korea by a modern railroad. Here, alas, we also see large factories making cigarettes, and quite a modern display of rum-shops. But we are behind; there is no representative of the message here.

We now turned south toward the Korean border, this way home being by far the quickest route back to Shanghai; and after a ride of one hundred eighty-five miles, reached An-tung, a seaport town on the river Yalu. Crossing the river on small sleds,—for the ice was very thick,—we started the next day for Soonan, where the Korean brethren were gathered for their annual committee meeting, combined with a general meeting for their workers. Here we were glad to meet the greater part of the foreign workers of this mission field, and to see the hearty interest and zeal manifested. We visited their school, conducted by Dr. Riley Russell, and could not but long to see them provided with better facilities for their work. Elder Evans remained here, while I returned to Shanghai by way of Seoul, Moji, and Nagasaki.

A CONTRAST

The upper picture shows the Presbyterian China Mission Press. The cross indicates where our printing is done for the Chinese.

I feel I should not pass Seoul without speaking of the great need of better facilities with which to get out our life-giving literature. Our Korean brethren have a press similar to the ones used in George Washington's time,—a model of that on exhibition in the old Statehouse in Boston as “Benjamin Franklin's press;” and with this they are expected to reach twenty million souls. Think of it, brethren! you who sit down calmly week by week and read the REVIEW, printed by up-to-date machinery in a modern building, who enjoy the reports and the pictures from all over the world,—think of the kind of ammunition given to these brave soldiers, who are sent from home to carry forward the work of God.

After four more days' travel I reached home, where was found plenty of work waiting to be done. The press was running from early morning till late at night, trying to get out, not something to lay on the shelves as “stock,” but just our regular paper. Our New-year's edition calls for fifty thousand copies, and we dare not even think of the numerous tracts, pamphlets, and large books in preparation or ready for the press. Calls for our literature are coming from all parts of the country. Some of these calls are from men of learning and position, men in colleges and churches, who long for books and light. These calls we can not supply, because we have not the money to build and print. And here we must add that it is impossible for us to hire the work done, because of the fact that such work here is very uncertain, and the prices asked would prevent our handling the books except at a heavy loss.

[It is but just to state here that when this is read, about nine thousand dollars of the $300,000 Fund will be on the way to China, for them to use in establishing their printing-plant at Shanghai. Further than this, the Pacific Press Publishing Association, at its last meeting, voted to purchase with one tenth of its net profits a printing-press for the Orient, probably for Shanghai. This gift will supplement by about two thousand dollars the amount sent on from the Mission Board out of the $300,000 Fund, making eleven thousand dollars in all. This will give them a good start, to say the least, and will bring great joy to the hearts of the workers over there. Further, we have recently sent on to Korea about sixty selected cuts, suitable for use in their paper. These were kindly donated by the Review and Herald, the Pacific Press, and the International publishing associations. But they need their press right away. So far as we know, no provision has been made to supply Korea with its much-needed printing-press.—Ed.]

In this entire trip I traveled about four thousand miles. In all this territory we have but two stations where the truth is established,—and these two tell a plain and forcible story of need. We could travel three thousand miles straight west, and still be in our field. O, that men and means, consecrated to the service of the Master, would come! Brethren, those who have seen the pitiful conditions which here prevail; who have heard the cries of China's poor, benighted souls; who have been brought to know what Satan's rule for four thousand years can do,—these long for the time when it

shall all end. “How long, O Lord?” is our cry. The answer is not withheld: “This gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.” Who will help hasten the coming of our Lord and Master?

Shanghai.

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