The Waldensian Valleys.
By Anna D. Atkinson
I HAVE been asked to give a short account of a visit to these famous valleys. The history of the Waldensian Church is well known, so I will confine my remarks to what I saw and heard during my two days’ visit to this interesting land, that has been consecrated by the blood of martyrs, and has brought forth so much fruit to the praise and glory of God. We (for I was one of a party of four) were most hospitably entertained by Madame Beckwith, widow of the great benefactor of the Vaudois. What struck me very much was the beautiful simplicity manifested in the self-denying lives of the pastors and professors. It is evident that to them “to live is Christ.” Their work, whether in preaching the gospel, teaching the young, or training the youths for the ministry, is the great object of their lives. The Orphanage is a model of what such an institution should be. The perfect order and cleanliness of the large, airy rooms, and the happy looks of the children, who sang two or three hymns very sweetly to us, testified that the Father of the fatherless had sealed with his blessing this refuge and provision for the orphans of the valleys. Of the hospital we saw sufficient to convince us that the sick and suffering are tenderly cared for. Perhaps nothing interested us more than our visit to the training college. Here the young men, some almost boys, are well instructed in general knowledge and the necessary branches of a good sound education, including the Scriptures in the original. Above all, they are rooted and grounded in their most holy faith; taught the truths and doctrines of the Bible, so that they may be able to impart them to others, and also that it is a privilege to be set apart by God himself for the ministry of the word. This institution is, obviously, second to none in importance, for were the supply of pastors to fail, who would feed the flock in the valleys? There is a burden now resting upon this ancient church in the shape of a heavy debt upon the training college. Little or nothing can be given by the people themselves. A subscription list has been opened, to which it was our privilege to add our names. Limited space forbids my dwelling upon our visit to one of the romantic little parishes upon the mountain side, or to the delightful meeting convened by our kind hostess the evening before we left, when between thirty and forty, including pastors, professors, students, and girls from the Superior School, were invited to meet us. We sang the praises of Him who had made us one by the blood of the cross, and we knelt at his footstool as one family, redeemed from among men, and fellow-heirs of the kingdom, where we shall be “glorified together.”—Anna D. Atkinson, in the Missionary.