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Signs of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 42.

Feeding upon God's Word
Earlier text: THE PURITANS OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY

INTERNATIONAL ARBITRATION.

By W. N. Glenn

BY W. N. GLENN.
THE question of settling all international differences by arbitration has been more or less agitated for several years, but it was made especially prominent through the medium of the congresses connected with the Chicago Exposition. The attention of all the civilized governments has been called to the subject, and all seem inclined to give at least respectful attention to it. If each could see how to consummate such an arrangement without compromising some selfish interest that might arise in the future, no doubt all would be willing to forthwith adopt the plan.
But perhaps the most intricate question would be, Who shall be arbitrator? It has been already asked, Shall there be a permanent board, or shall arbiters be chosen as occasion may require? Roman Catholicism stands ready to seize the golden opportunity offered by the arbitration agitation. The Catholic Mirror says, “No time should be lost in cultivating popular sentiment in favor of this all-important subject of permanent peace.” And Civiltà Cattolica is ready to answer the question, Who shall arbitrate? It says, “Only one answer is possible; the pope must act as arbitrator; he alone possesses in his person the indispensable qualifications.” In support of this conclusion the following reasons are assigned:—
  1. His power is spiritual and, therefore, more removed from mere political considerations than that of any other monarch.
  2. The pope is habitually an old man and celibate, devoid of family ties and uninfluenced by passion.
  3. He is compelled to take as his model in the eyes of the world that divine Prince of Peace, whose representative on earth he is.
  4. Whereas the increase of their temporal estates is the great aim and object of all sovereigns, the sole glory of the pontiff consists in the open defense of truth and right.
  5. The decisions of the pope are likely to be accessible to all, even to those who do not recognize his religious domination, as being those of a great moral power.
Just how it will come about does not yet appear; but in some way, before long, the pope will occupy a position where for a very brief period he will rule the world. The “deadly wound” will be “healed,” as saith the prophet, who also saw that “all the world wondered after the beast.” When he comes into that position of power, he will “arbitrate” by virtue of some powers “which have received no kingdom as yet; but they receive authority as kings, with the beast, for one hour. These have one mind, and they give their power and authority unto the beast.” Rev. 17:12, 13, Revised Version.
And a further view shows that “these shall war against the Lamb, and the Lamb shall overcome them, for he is Lord of lords, and King of kings; and they also shall overcome that are with him, called and chosen and faithful.” Verse 14. Then comes the reversion of fortune, and these very powers that have supported the apostate church, seeing that they have been deceived by her, turn against her. “These shall hate the harlot, and shall make her desolate and naked, and shall eat her flesh, and shall burn her utterly with fire. For God did put in their hearts to do his mind, and to come to one mind, and to give their kingdom unto the beast, until the words of God should be accomplished.” Verses 16, 17, Revised Version.

A EUROPEAN WAR.

A VAST European war is to-day in actual progress—a war of endurance. Every nerve is tense with the strain, every back is bowed with the burden. Not a cannon belches forth its shot and shell, and no rattle of musketry is heard; but the war is going on none the less—a desperate, destructive, cruel war, that causes as sickening torture and as certain death as bayonet and saber could possibly cause. It is as if two pugilists, ceasing for the time being to strike blows, had locked themselves in a desperate embrace, and were exerting every muscle and nerve to crush each other to the ground. The war budgets have increased at the rate of twenty-three per cent for the last six years, and this year has witnessed a deficit in every budget in Europe. “In vain are more and more taxes levied upon the thickening populations struggling desperately for the means of subsistence,” says the leading article in the Contemporary Review for June:—
State after State finds itself compelled, in time of profound peace, to discount the revenue of the future by raising loans, which but temporarily postpone the evil day. To the people thus stumbling headlong down to destruction—and stumbling all the more recklessly because their movements are governed by no settled plan or purpose—it is necessary to address the one imperative “Halt!” It is the word of the moment, the order of the day for the close of the century. “Halt!”
“Profound peace,” indeed! The condition in Europe is one of war, not of peace, only it is a war waged with new weapons, and the victims are not spangled soldiery marching to the tune of fife and drum, and spurred on by dreams of glory, but they are the toiling millions, crushed and dwarfed beneath the industrial burdens placed upon them. Over 130,000 more men are under arms in Europe this year than last; and in one nation—Italy—the burden has grown so great that an income tax of 20 per cent is necessary in some parts, and even so the nation is toppling on the verge of bankruptcy. Every nation is facing the same precipice, and it is a silent but intense struggle between them to topple each other over into the abyss. The amazing part of it is that every sovereign in Europe is desirous of peace and for a termination to the struggle. M. de Blowitz, European correspondent for the London Times, writing in McClure’s Magazine, quotes these sovereigns as follows:—
The pope has said, “Europe must first be allowed to breathe at its ease.”
The czar of Russia has said, “My chief mission here below is the maintenance of peace.”
The Emperor Francis Joseph has said, “The hand of God has always impelled me toward peace.”
The king of Italy said only the other day, “Peace is, for Italy, an absolute necessity.”
The king of Denmark has said, “I hope to live long enough to see Europe diminish its war expenses in time of peace.”
Prince Bismarck said to me, and the German emperor has since made the same remark: “After such a war as ours, after such a victory as ours, no man thinks of staking his winnings on a single card. The night before a battle who knows who will be the victor?”
It seems as though the great nations of Europe are being driven on and on by some grim fate which they cannot resist. A great continental tragedy is being enacted, and a world watches shudderingly for the climax.—The Voice.

Ministers and the Conversion of Sinners

By John Owen

MINISTERS are seldom honored with success unless they are continually aiming at the conversion of sinners.—Owen.

HESTER'S GRADUATING DRESS.

By Laura J. Rittenhouse

THE trees were out in their spring costumes of pale green foliage, that was sparkling with raindrops, and the very atmosphere was saturated with sweet odors from the roses growing in the pretty yards on either side of the street, as stately Hester Bingham and pretty little Daisy Gregory walked, with buoyant, springing steps, on their way to school.
"What are you going to wear for commencement, Hester?" asked Daisy.
Hester smiled brightly. "You'll be surprised when I tell you, Daisy—a beautiful, creamy silk from Stuart's. Dear old Grand-papa Bingham sent me the money to buy it. I know it isn't good form for 'a sweet girl graduate' to wear such costly fabrics, but I really cannot resist the temptation. You see I have never had a silk dress in all my life, and I do want to be well dressed for once, even if it does seem vain and extravagant."
"Well, why shouldn't you? For my part, I have no sympathy for people who pride themselves on the severe simplicity of their attire, and make guys of themselves, as if it were wicked to dress becomingly," asserted Daisy.
"Neither have I, but I pity the girls like myself, who love pretty, dainty things, and have not the money to buy them. I try to hold myself above a desire for beautiful clothing, because with our large family at home it is a hard matter to get even the necessities. I tell myself it doesn't matter, that I am worth just as much in my old-fashioned cashmere as I should be in the most elegant gown in the city, but, in spite of myself, I sometimes long for handsome dresses."
"Of course, that's natural. But it has never entered my head that you were not well dressed, Hester. You have a way of wearing your old gowns that gives them an air of elegance, as if you were 'to the manor born.' I'd give anything if I could do it, but I can't. I am an abject slave to my dresses, and am up in the clouds of self-complacency, or down in the gutter of humiliation and dowdyism, according to the garments I wear."
Hester shook her head disbelievingly, but Daisy rattled on.
"Oh, yes, I am too! And there's poor little Grace Minton, who needs nice things to make her look half respectable. I declare, I pity the poor child now, for she hasn't a decent thing to wear when she graduates, not even an old white dress to resurrect and make over. Everything was destroyed when their house was burned last winter. Grace says they barely escaped with their lives, and they've been living in a poor old tenement house ever since, and are dreadfully pinched, poor things!"
"I'm so sorry. I did not know it was so bad as that, at least not that they were in such straitened circumstances," Hester said compassionately.
"Oh! and that isn't the worst of it either. Mrs. Minton took a severe cold the night their home burned, and they fear she is going into a rapid decline, though the doctor says she would probably get well if she could go into the country for the summer, and have plenty of fresh air and outdoor exercise. But, as Mr. Minton can barely support his family now, I suppose there isn't much hope for poor Mrs. Minton."
Hester's face was very serious now. "How dreadful it all is!" she said chokingly.
"Yes, it is. I feel especially sorry for Grace, she looks so tacky in her shabby dress. I offered to give her one of my old ones to make over, but she declined as haughtily as a princess. I'm sure she needn't have hesitated about taking it, for I told her I was tired of it, and should never wear it again," Daisy said ingenuously.
"I suppose you told her it wasn't fit to wear, anyhow, but quite good enough for her?" Hester asked somewhat sarcastically.
"Indeed I didn't. I only told her it was so old-fashioned I looked like a dowdy in it, but that it would be better than—than nothing," and Daisy blushed violently as she met Hester's reproachful gaze.
"How could she refuse such a delicate offer! O Daisy Gregory! you are a good-hearted little thing, but the stupidest, most tactless blunderer," Hester said frankly.
There was no time for further conversation then, as they had reached the school building, but all the morning Hester's heart was heavy, and she could not keep the thought of Grace Minton and her invalid mother out of her mind.
She kept saying to herself that it was no affair of hers, that poverty had laid such a heavy hand upon her own family that she could not aid others, yet repeatedly came back to her the time-worn text, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
After all, though, that didn't mean actually robbing yourself to give to another, and the check in her pocketbook had been given her expressly to buy a fine commencement dress. To not use it in that way would probably displease her grandfather, and, clearly, she had no right to do that.
Safe in the seclusion of her own room that night, the conflict between pride and generous impulse began again. Back and forth she went in mental argument, undecided what to do, and yet unable to cease thinking it over.
After a while she heard her mother cough a little. Somehow the sound pierced her ears painfully. Suppose it were her mother, instead of Grace Minton's, who coughed night and day, and who was doomed to die unless someone came to her rescue? Would she let a silk dress stand between her mother and life? The thought was intolerable. And should she wear the price of a life in a handsome gown upon commencement day, while poor Mrs. Minton was dying for want of fresh air and sunshine?
How could she for one moment have been selfish enough to entertain such an idea! Her duty seemed so plain to her now. There was but one course for a follower of the Master to take, and that was to use the means so providentially placed in her hands, to restore health and happiness to the Minton household.
So she decided to buy an inexpensive mull dress for herself and one for Grace Minton, and, instead of employing a high-priced dress-maker as she had intended, to use her own artistic taste and skill in making her simple gown. The rest of the money she would give to send Mrs. Minton to the country. And so, the bitter struggle being ended and self-conquered, Hester was soon peacefully sleeping.
The next day Grace Minton went home from school with a sore heart. She had heard the girls discussing their commencement dresses, and, although free from envy, she could scarcely keep back the tears as she listened. How lovely they would all look, and how shabby she would be in her old gingham dress, without so much as the addition of fresh ribbons! Even the thought that she was salutatorian gave small comfort, because that would make the contrast between herself and the valedictorian, Hester Bingham, only the more sharply pronounced. How regal Hester would be in the soft, heavy silk Daisy Gregory had said she was to wear! People would smile no doubt as they looked at the beautiful valedictorian and then at homely little Grace Minton.
As she hurried around preparing supper, brooding over her shabby clothes and her precious mother's illness, someone knocked on the front door. She wiped away the tears that were beginning to flow freely, and, answering the summons, to her surprise found Hester Bingham. For a moment the two girls were equally embarrassed, then, with innate hospitality, Grace cordially invited her visitor to enter.
Then followed an exciting but happy interview. Hester could never remember afterwards how she did it, but, with her tender, generous heart in eyes and voice, she had given the pretty mull dress to Grace, and forty dollars in crisp bills to be used for the invalid mother.
The delicacy, the tact with which she presented her gift, instead of wounding sensitive Grace, had filled her heart with a flood of love and gratitude. She caught hold of Hester's hands, and fairly dragged her into the bare little room where her mother was lying.
"This is Hester Bingham, mamma, and, O mamma, she's an angel to be so good to us! You can go to the country now, to dear old Uncle Jacob's, and stay all summer and get plump and rosy and well again," and the excited girl hugged her mother one moment and cried for joy the next.
"And I tried not to care about my old dress, mamma, but, oh! I did. I hated it! I wanted something sweet and fresh and dainty, such as the other girls were going to wear, and now, thanks to my noble, generous Hester, I have it—I have it!"
Hester stood half confused and wholly silent, but in her heart was a gladness that seemed a divine benediction, and what had been a sacrifice was a sacrifice no longer.—The Advance.

WANT OF THOUGHT.

It has been said, in apology for the wholesale slaughter of birds to adorn our ladies, that it is rather "want of thought" than "want of heart" which is at the root of the craze. In many instances, undoubtedly, it is so. Some time ago a correspondent informed the writer of an incident in proof of this. Two little mites (a boy and a girl) recited at the Hythe Band of Mercy "Our Appeal to the Ladies," in which occur the lines:— "So lovely you are, so kindly, 'tis said, How can you wear headgear bedeck'd with the dead? O ladies! how can you? Don't you think it is wrong, Your hats costing live birds and hushing a song? O ladies, dear ladies, pray list to our words! Don't wear hats bedeck'd with sweet-singing birds; O ladies, dear ladies, pray list to our words, Don't wear hats that call for the killing of birds! There are ribbons and flowers of loveliest hue; Why kill the poor birdies, they never hurt you?"
A strange lady sitting there, with a large bird in her hat, suddenly snatched it off her head, and, tearing off the bird, threw it under her feet, saying as she did so, with tears in her eyes: "Oh, I never thought of it in that way! After such a rebuke from infant lips I'll never wear another bird."—London Echo.

WIND AND SEA.

THE sea is a jovial comrade; He laughs wherever he goes; His merriment shines in the dimpling lines That wrinkle his hale repose. He lays himself down at the feet of the sun, And shakes all over with glee, And the broad-back'd billows fall faint on the shore In the mirth of the mighty sea.
But the wind is sad and restless, And cursed with an inward pain; You may hark as you will by valley or hill, But you hear him still complain. He wails on the barren mountains, And shrieks on the wintry sea; He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the pine, And shudders all over the aspen tree.
Welcome are both their voices, And I know not which is best— The laughter that slips from the ocean's lips, Or the comfortless wind's unrest. There's a pang in all rejoicing, A joy in the heart of pain, And the wind that saddens, the sea that glad- dens, Are singing the selfsame strain. —Selected.

"LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED."

SWEETLY floating down the centuries, come to us the tender words, "Let not your heart be troubled." Look up, faint toiler in this workday life, and catch the music of this sentence as it falls from hallowed lips, "Let not your heart be troubled." Jesus says it to you. What love beams on his face! What tenderness! He knows how weak and frail you are. He sees that the path is narrow and rough. He sees that your feet are bleeding as you press along through the defile of poverty. He sees the parched lips; he hears the tremulous sigh, and he knows if it is for love of him, if indeed you are trying to follow in his way.
"Let not your heart be troubled." The path of life is short. Do you tread on thorns? Each step makes the way shorter; each day you are nearer laying the burden down.
"Let not your heart be troubled." You are going home. The care, and toil, and want of comfort, will all be forgotten as soon as you reach your Father's house. No more homesickness; no more reaching out for sympathy; no more weary, lonely hours.
"Let not your heart be troubled." "Where I am, there ye may be also." Look forward. Thy furnace heats will die away; the tests will all be tried; the gold will appear.
Have you lost friends?—He wishes to be beloved of your heart. Have you lost wealth?—It is that he may support you entirely. Are you sick?—He is the Physician. Are you a helpless widow?—Thy Maker is thy Husband. Are you bereft of earthly kindred?—Jesus is your Elder Brother.
Do you suffer?—Lean upon him; he carries in his bosom those who are too feeble to walk by the way.
How tender is his love! "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you." Rest upon Jesus.
"Let not your heart be troubled."—Selected.

SINGAPORE, INDIA.

By Editor

A LADY connected with the Deaconess Home in Singapore recently returned to her post after a visit to friends in this country. From a letter written by her to the Union Gospel News we take the following extracts:—
"Before I went home I had the entire charge of our woman's work. Now I am glad to say it has extended so that it keeps two other ladies beside myself busy. We have also fifteen other workers employed. Twenty-four native girls live in our home.
"Just before I went away a slave girl named Benf Neo followed our teachers' conveyance, and thus found her way to our home. Miss Perris took her to the Chinese protector, who said we might keep her if she wished to stay with us. As Singapore is a British settlement, of course slavery is illegal. Benf Neo has been very happy in our home, and is wonderfully improved. She has learned to read quite nicely. But best of all she has found her way to the Lord.
"The mother of three of the little Chinese girls that have come to the home lately was a confirmed opium smoker. Our Bible woman found her very ill in an opium den. She took the woman to the hospital, where she died shortly afterwards.
"Two little Malay children—such cute little mites—were brought by their father, who has, during the past year, been truly converted. In his youth this man lived in a Christian school; he could never forget the teaching received there. Since his conversion he has borne a good deal of persecution. His enemies tried to poison him, and his wife left him. The worst now is over, and Brother Silas is developing into an earnest preacher of the gospel.
"Since my return two women have been converted. One is an elderly Chinese woman, named Nonya Sineo, with two grown-up sons. We have been teaching her for some time, and now she is so happy. She has thanked us again and again for leading her into the true light. It was my duty to tell the eldest son of the step his mother had taken. I went to the task with some fear. But my fears were needless, for the son has had Christian teaching himself, and he told me that in his heart he too believed in Christ.
"The second conversion was that of a young Chinese girl, named Tunyah, who for only three months has heard of the true God. She told me she never did believe in idols. Her younger sister, Chew Neo, is in our home. At first she was averse to Tunyah becoming a Christian, but her prejudice has been disappearing gradually. Last Sunday evening in our home prayer meeting Chew Neo testified to her desire to believe in Jesus. Afterwards, when I was talking to her alone, she cut off a charm that for many years she has worn around her neck to keep away sickness and evil spirits.
"We have three day schools in different parts of the town, and teachers in a good many homes. Sunday schools are receiving a good deal of attention from us at present, and we are trying to open up new ones. Our population is so diverse that we have to use all sorts of plans. Some months ago Miss Ferris began a Sunday school in Telok Ayes, the Chinese part of our city. The first Sunday she had but one pupil; now she has thirty attending. One Sunday I had the privilege of doing this work. First, all the girls had to be collected in a gharry. Oh, how that conveyance turned and twisted down streets, up hills, into lanes, picking up one here and another there!
"Last Sunday I began a Sunday school in a Malay section of our city. We went first to a small, clean shop and asked permission to take up our stand there, which was readily given. We then began to sing, and a small crowd gathered quickly to find out what we were doing. We announced our intention of teaching the children, who then came to the front—about fifty of them—and their elders stood on the outskirts. We sang and talked to them and tried to teach them a chorus, but they were too abashed to repeat it. When we had finished, we walked through the kampoy (village), the crowd following us, and as they farewelled us, they raised what was supposed to be an English cheer and succeeded in making a considerable noise. One of our members remarked that when they get over their shyness and learn to sing, they have sufficient lung power to attract attention.
"Soon I hope to do something in the way of a Sunday school in a Tamil lane, where very poor people live. They speak very little Malay. However, two Christian Tamil lads have promised to help me.
"You see we come in contact with people speaking distinctly different languages, and we want all to hear the good news of salvation. When I start out on my day's visiting, I put into my bag some papers printed in Malay, Chinese, and Tamil."

THAT PIPE.

At a meeting in London the writer noticed, sitting near the platform, a man with an unusually wretched countenance. His hair looked uncombed, and his general untidiness was rendered all the more striking by a bright red necktie which he wore.
All through the address he sat looking straight in front of him and seemed like one stupefied. On speaking to him at the close of the meeting he gave a grunt, and then the writer was told "he was a hopeless case."
Immediately I thanked God that nothing was impossible with him, and so, leaving the man with an invitation to another meeting the following Sunday evening, I went home to pray.
Sure enough, the next week he was there; but there was a restlessness about him which encouraged me to believe that the deeps were breaking up.
At the close of the meeting, when seeking souls were being invited to come to Jesus, this man arose and made the following declaration:—
"Look here," he said, "forty years ago I gave my heart to God, and then he wanted to cleanse me and fill me with his Holy Spirit; but I loved my pipe and my 'baccy,' and I wouldn't give in. So I tried to smoke away the strivings of the Spirit, and I tell you just what it is, Satan has stupefied me so that I have only just found out I've been serving him these last thirty-nine years. But I smashed my pipe to-day, and I ain't going to be a walking chimney any more. I'll let God have his way to-night. It's that pipe that's been keeping me out of peace."
He got deliverance that night.
Friends, look at Eze. 36: 25-27. Trust God, and let your idols go.—Christian Repository.

WHAT IS FRESH AIR?

By Dr. C. W. Lyman

BY DR. C. W. LYMAN.
THERE is all but universal agreement among mankind that good air is a prime necessity. However, vast differences exist in the standards of what bad air is, and as to how fresh air must be to be fit for consumption. Too often it is that only one coming into a room from without is able to declare that its air is dead and foul. When we habitually, or even for a relatively short period, breathe air that is not of the best, the sensibilities become dulled that should protest and warn us. We are more likely to ourselves protest against raising windows and getting a fresh supply if a visitor from without apprise us of the condition of things and propose such a measure. Hence do we not need constantly to consider the liability of air in rooms to become stale and impure? Must we not exchange it for a fresh supply without necessarily having a warning from our senses?
One of the most instructive experiments ever made in physiology was that in which Richardson of England discovered that, if oxygen was inhaled into the lungs and then, after being exhaled, was freed from carbonic acid gas and other impurities, it had also lost some other property, and was now incapable of supporting life in a warm-blooded animal. As he expressed it this oxygen was "devitalized." Combustible bodies would burn in it as brilliantly as ever, and cold-blooded animals could breathe it and support life. But it could no longer be appropriated by the blood of animals like ourselves. If electric sparks were passed through it, its lost property was restored to it.
This points to the conclusion that every cubic inch of air that has once passed through human lungs, including the portion of oxygen that is not taken up by the blood and is exhaled again, needs to be expelled from a living room. It needs to pass out and away into the outdoor atmosphere, to be reëlectrified by vegetation, storms, or sun ere it is breathed again. This suggests that the great differences in the effects of the air on our spirits may be due to changes in what may be provisionally called the electric condition of the air. In this way, it may be, the exhilaration felt after a smart thundershower is brought about, as also the depression produced in many New Englanders by easterly and by southwesterly winds.
Vegetation, soil evaporation, and other natural agencies seem to play upon this condition in the air, giving it, in various parts of the country, more or less vivifying characteristics that are all its own in a given locality. A person coming from the Adirondacks to other parts of this State feels at once (and the perception lasts for days) that the air, though country air, is relatively lifeless and lacking in some quality which his lungs have learned to love. If he comes to the city, he tastes pollution in each chestful inhaled, and feels a stupefying influence settling in upon him.—New York Voice.

THE WAY, THE TRUTH, THE LIFE.

By Converted Catholic

"I AM the Way, the Truth, the Life," I hear the Saviour say; "Behold in me the open door, Nor climb some other way."
My troubled soul would purchase peace Through merit, all its own, And seek by words to find the Lord, Nor trust in him alone.
Like a wounded bird that falls to earth, Sore, bruiséd, helpless, torn, I fall, blest Saviour, at thy feet, And works of merit scorn.
Thy "name's above all other names," My "Prophet, Priest, and King." My true Confessor, Saviour, God; None other name I sing. —Converted Catholic.

A VISIT TO SZCHUAN PROVINCE IN CHINA.

MANY people have heard Mr. Upcraft talk enthusiastically about Christianizing the province of Szchuan, with its thirty-five million of people. As you may not have seen these missionaries, or their field of labor, let us go and visit them.
It will be a long journey. We must ascend the river Yangtze, the Mississippi of the East, sixteen hundred miles, to Suifu, which Dr. Mabie calls the St. Paul of China, stopping first, after traveling six hundred miles by steamer, at Hankow, "where, as at St. Louis, the heavy navigation of the lower stops." Day after day we follow the majestic river, past pagodas and monasteries and endless walled cities; past the rocky hills that dip their feet into the waters which skirt them on the north; past monotonous flat lowlands green with rice fields that stretch far away toward the polar star, and inhabited by millions upon millions of our fellow-men.
We reach Hankow on a lovely day; the sun shines, the birds sing, and our souls sing, too, with joy when, at the landing, we meet our representative in this heathen city, Dr. Lydia Wyckoff. She conducts us to the house of one of the missionaries of the Union, in whose family she makes her home. She is studying Chinese, and at the same time seizing every opportunity which opens to her for medical evangelistic work.
"You know," she says, "that I only came to Hankow on the 3d of last January, so lately that I can do little yet but study and pray. I have the privilege of being present for two hours daily in the woman's ward of the English hospital, assisted by a nurse who speaks Chinese."
"We have then no hospital of our own?" we ask.
"No, this station is very new. When I can speak the language sufficiently well, I hope to open an office and start things in that way. Everything in China moves along very slowly, but our dependence is on God to act upon the people so that we can get into their hearts and lives."
"You need great faith and courage."
"Yes," she answered, "but then we feel always that we have an army of praying mothers and daughters back of us, whom God hath chosen to plead his cause for China. Therefore we go forth, praying God to fight valiantly for us in the work which is most triumphantly his own."
Our time is short, and we leave Hankow for the West. On again we travel, through a teeming plain, and past a people very pronounced in their opposition to foreigners, for we are in the hostile province of Hunan. At length the limit of steam navigation is reached, so at Ichang we take to a native boat hauled by a careless, happy crew. Then begins an exciting journey, past rapids, eddies, and whirlpools, through cañons where the great river chafes in its narrow channel like an entrapped giant, between stupendous cliffs that shut out the sunshine and echo the shouts of the toiling boat trackers, and we have no glimpse of human life excepting, here and there, little brown, thatched, adobe farmhouses cling like frightened birds to narrow terraces far up on the mountain sides. And yet, before we reach our destination, we pass many a city crowded with inhabitants.
All is expectancy as, at last, after a three months' journey, we round an angular bluff and catch the first glimpse of the white pagoda, that insures the good fortune of Suifu. By noon we are anchored outside the south gate.
The brown, mud-laden Yangtze comes down from the shadowy lands we call Thibet, too wild and brawling to be of much use to navigation, until at Suifu it swings up from the southwest and meets the clearer waters of the Min, as that stream rushes down from the northern mountains. The city stands at the point of confluence of the rivers, where, working for ages, they have erected a little platform of level earth at the base of encircling hills.
On landing, we see first a grayish stone wall with crenated top, a narrow gateway, one of six through which we pass, a maze of narrow, crooked streets, unending rows of shops and houses, not more than two stories high, crowds of leisurely, civil men, hordes of saucy, fun-loving boys, a few venturesome women, then, at last, a whitewashed wall, pierced in the center by a Chinese door.
We pass through this and find ourselves in the courtyard of the house where dwell, right in the heart of the city, the two missionaries of the Society of the West, whom we have come so far to see. They are clad in Chinese garments, that they may seem less strange and foreign to the women whose hearts and homes they long to reach.
One of them is Miss Emma Inveen, who went to Ningpo from Illinois in 1879. We have long been acquainted with her work there. About two years and a half ago she joined the mission at Suifu. The need of woman's work for women was deeply felt in the newly opened station in Western China, and Miss Inveen's experience in work among the Chinese, her knowledge of the language, and her sympathetic nature, made her a welcome volunteer in the forward movement. The Chinese at Ningpo gave her the comforting assurance that "Szchuan people are all wild," but she was undaunted by the distance and difficulties presented to her, and has succeeded in making for herself a large place in the hearts of the women of Suifu.
Last December she had the joy of meeting at Shanghai Miss Frances Bliss, who came from Montana to be a fellow-laborer in the gospel.
Now they gladly receive us in their home, on University Avenue, in Suifu, and introduce us to their Sunday school, the "women's guest hall," where gather the sisters of the church for instruction and prayer, and all the different methods by which the gospel is preached to the women of Suifu.
Remote as this distant province of Szchuan seems to us, it has become the home of our missionaries. Here they find human nature the same as on our Western Continent, and heathenism as cruel and soul destroying as it is wherever it reigns. There is much to be done, even if the work is new. Every door that opens ever so slightly is entered with delight.
The faith and happiness of these ladies is such that we follow them about their work with a longing in our hearts to lead their life and receive their reward.
Far from being disheartened or sad, their attitude is best expressed in Miss Inveen's parting words as we bade her good-by:—
"How can we do otherwise than joy and rejoice in Him who has sent us forth, and who is leading us step by step into the unknown future?"—Helping Hand.

RISE AND PROGRESS

By John Norton Loughborough

—OF—

Seventh-Day Adventists.

Tokens of God's Hand in the Movement, and Brief Sketch of the Advent Cause from 1831 to 1844.
By J. N. LOUGHBOROUGH.
This new book, fresh from the pen of one of the oldest ministers in the advent movement, cannot but be of great interest to all, and especially to those who have become Seventh-Day Adventists in recent years and know but little of the early history of the cause and its leaders.
The following are some of the chapter headings: Extent of the Advent Proclamation; The Tarrying Time; The Midnight Cry; The Disappointment; Fresh Tokens of Divine Guidance; Perils, Reproaches, Victories; New Features in the Work; Providence of God in the Publishing Work; Organization; Rapid Advancement; Though Workers Faint, God's Work Advances; Truth Advanced Even by Opposition.
The book contains nearly 400 pages, with 50 illustrations, several of them full page, and is neatly bound in cloth, and furnished in two styles.
Cloth, plain edges . . . . . $1 25 Cloth, gilt edges . . . . . 1 50
Books sent postpaid on receipt of price.
Address, PACIFIC PRESS PUB. CO., OAKLAND, CAL. Or 43 Bond St., New York.

CRUDEN'S CONCORDANCE

CLOTH, $1.25. LIBRARY STYLE, $2.50.
ADDRESS: PACIFIC PRESS PUBLISHING CO., OAKLAND, CAL.
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