Earlier text: MOTIVES OF THE SPANISH MONARCHSCHRISTIANITY REPUDIATES FORCE.
[The following is an extract from a tract (Sentinel Library No. 47) entitled, “Should Sabbath Observance Be Enforced by Civil Law?” Price, 3 cents. For sale by Pacific Press Publishing Co., Oakland, Cal.; 43 Bond Street, New York City; 18 W. Fifth Street, Kansas City, Mo.] THE realm of religion is the soul. The manifestation of religion is worship, and worship is voluntary homage. Man's nature, constituted in accordance with the divine plan of salvation, the basis of which is love, revolts from the use of force in the observance of religious institutions; for force destroys the essential element of all worship and relegates the coerced victim's vow to the realm of hypocritical mummery, and that is spiritual and eternal death. God repudiates all force, and sums up his conception of human duty in that criterion of all religion—the moral law—the sum of which is perfect love to God and man. The great Expounder of that law, when on earth, would not ally his cause with the civil power. Resisting attempted force, he says: "My kingdom is not of this world." "Who made me a judge to rule over you?" "They that take the sword shall perish by the sword." Nor does the true disciple seek to light his temple with such unhallowed fire; for it is to be illumined by other and holier lights. Yet some professed Christians seem to think Christ's religion of love best inculcated by force. We have proven the Sabbath a purely religious institution. It must be admitted that Christianity repudiates all force in the observance of its institutions. Then it inevitably follows that Christianity repudiates the use of force in the observance of the Sabbath. Yet, in defiance of the fundamental ideas and plainest precepts of Christianity, some of its professors advocate the use of force. Crying out in alarm at the desecration of the day they deem sacred, they seek for the penalties of law in the hope of aid, well knowing that were the hearts right there would be no profanation. But the heart is made right only by the boundless grace, which they trample underfoot when turning from it to court the favor of secular law. Bishop Vincent says: "The church makes a great mistake when it seeks to influence temporal power. All the church wants is spiritual power, and this goes out when temporal power is invoked." The Christian rightly claims protection in the exercise of his religion, but protection does not mean support, patronage, or regulation of religion in any way. Christian, Jew, and pagan have a right to the protection of the law, but none of them to its support. No one has the right to force on others the observance of the institutions of his religion, nor punish others for the profanation of a day he deems sacred. Every true Christian repudiates the doctrine of force, as foreign to the Christian religion. But the advocates of coercive religion say that "without the coercion of law, the Sabbath would soon be generally desecrated." This we deny. It contradicts facts, history, and experience. The true Christian observes his Sabbath, be it the first or seventh day, because he is a Christian, not because it is enjoined by civil law. In localities without such laws or having them as nullities, the Lord's day is generally observed. California has no Sabbath laws. I read from Rev. Crafts' "Sabbath for Man," a San Francisco pastor gives as answer to the question, "Where have you seen the best Sabbath observance?"—"Among the Christian people of California; the characteristics of their Sabbath observance are reverence, tempered with love; joyousness and rare fidelity in Christian service; Christlike ministration to those in trouble, want, and sorrow." And in another place Mr. Crafts himself says, "A better public sentiment is the only sure defense," thus proving that the observance of the Sabbath does not depend on civil law. Public worship is fully protected by laws against disturbing church and religious meetings; against uproars, riots, and quarrels. Yet these are not Sabbath laws, according to the American Bar Association. It is public opinion, and not law, that makes the Sabbath respected. Without this opinion the proposed law could not be enforced; with it no law is needed. For, since all institutions, whether legalized or not, are enforced only as public opinion sanctions such enforcement, it is to the people true Christianity makes its appeal, and not to the law. Philosophy teaches us to deal with causes, and not with effects. A civil law enforcing Sabbath observance deals with effects alone; and since it neither aims at, nor is able to reach, the cause, it is useless. Sabbath desecration is the effect of a wayward heart. Christianity says: "The grace of God will cleanse your heart; come to the Fount of love." Advocates of civil enforcement say: "Make men bow. As hypocrites or worshipers, let them bow or suffer." History tells that men cannot be racked nor bound into, nor out of, Christianity. Much less can they be fined or imprisoned into it. The motive power of Christianity is love, and where force begins, love ends. The only strength Christianity ever had, or ever can have, is in the strength of Jesus Christ, and that is never made manifest politically. To enforce Sabbath observance where the heart rebels is to offer to God the essence of hypocrisy. The most scathing denunciation that ever fell from the lips of Christ was his condemnation of this contemptible sin. Two great evils must follow such an attempt:—
First, the world will not believe there is such a thing as the power of the Holy Spirit, since the church fails to use or value it.
Second, both world and church will be plunged more deeply into sin; because, for help against an evil, the church appeals to the very source of that evil. The world cannot purify the world, nor a worldly church become sanctified by the aid of the world. Therefore, "let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus;" and go with the Bible instead of the civil mace in your hand—that Bible which says, "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of hosts." Speed on the work of the Master with half the power expended on the Sabbath-law work, and the world would stand aghast at the revival of the church. Therefore, as the use of force is in direct opposition to the method and teaching of Christ and the fundamental precepts of Christianity, Christianity repudiates the use of force in the observance of its institutions. Such enforcement is religious persecution. The institutions of a religion are part of that religion, and to enforce a religious institution is to enforce part of a religion. But such enforcement involves a prior decision of the courts as to what religion is true and what false; and if law enforce what it deems the true religion, it must, as violation of law, suppress what it deems false religion. It would thus declare itself infallible, and its edicts would be the manifestos of an inquisition. To enforce the observance of the sabbath is to place a religious dogma in the statute law, and to discriminate against certain sects by establishing a tenet held by an opposing religion. To enforce the observance of a religious institution on a man whose conscience rebels, is religious persecution, and no sophistry can evade it. Gratitude for God’s Gifts
Our gratitude should be as rich and full as the gifts for which we are grateful.—United Presbyterian. The Nerve That Never Relaxes
“The nerve that never relaxes, the eye that never blanches, the thought that never wanders, are the harbingers of victory.” “THE MISTAKES OF THE CRITICS.”
By Editor
UNDER the above heading in the New York Observer of November 23 the Rev. Reese Murray, D.D., discusses the credulity of those who reject the Bible, and makes the following telling points among others:— When the learned Jesuit Hardouin gravely put forth his assertion that the Greek and Roman classics were the work of monks of the Middle Ages, he was laughed out of his enormous conceit by the whole literary world. Men, with the overwhelming evidences of the existence of these authors before them, could not admit so manifest an absurdity to contain even the semblance of truth. But when, on the other hand, skeptical critics assail the integrity of Scriptures, deny to their authors any part in the composition of their writings, and overturn their statements as false, because the proof of them is not at hand, they expect the world to accept their dictum. Volney made a startling announcement when he declared that Christ Jesus never existed, and Rousseau presented a strange spectacle of mental bewilderment when he contrasted Jesus and Socrates and yet refused to believe in the former. But these gentlemen solicited the public credence in their theories, and would have resented as foolishness the opinions of the common man to whom the Bible is a divine revelation. Similarly Renan speaks of the discourses of the Apostle John as “pieces of theology and rhetoric to which we must not ascribe historical reality, any more than to the discourses which Plato puts into the mouth of his master at the moment of dying.” And others, maintaining that Jesus could not have spoken as the three Gospels represent him, in some of his bold affirmations of the future, declare John’s gospel untrustworthy because it does not reproduce these very features which they reprehend in the Synoptics. This was what passed before us as we thought, and, glancing up, we caught sight of a manuscript where we had collocated a few strange facts concerning those who reject the Book. One was the case of Colonel Olcott, the theosophist, who saw a lad climb a bamboo pole and disappear, then as suddenly reappear dismembered, head, body, arms, and legs, to be restored to life whole as before by placing a cloth over these remains. The other was the case of an infidel lecturer, who said over the bier of his brother that “in the night of death hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.” The men who reject miracles, as Herbert Spencer says, because they could not happen, and who do not believe in immortality, have a strange faculty for accepting matters far more obnoxious to reason and the senses, and express themselves in language singularly like that of the word itself. For us its “mistakes” are so minute that they affect no part of revelation, while the inerrancy(?) of those who have found it witnessing against itself, has made us fear to follow in their footsteps. To be in error with the Book—if possible—is to have far more “truth in the inward parts” than to be right with the critics. MRS. MAKEPEACE'S OPINION.
By Diotrephes
MRS. MAKEPEACE was well known in the town of — as a thorough Christian, not because of her lengthy prayers and eloquent exhortations, or a Pharisaical countenance, but because of her consistent life as a follower of the blessed Master. Her life was one of sacrifice and self-denial, ever seeking to alleviate the sufferings of others, and performing little acts of mercy toward the poor and forsaken souls for whom Christ died. It was to this woman Brother Pharisee presented himself with a basket of wares to distribute gratuitously among his neighbors. He had such a woe-begone look on his usually cheerful-looking face that Sister Makepeace inquired of him, "Are you sick?" "Any of the family sick?" "Lost some money in some of the suspended banks?" "Oh, no! It is worse than that." "Why, Brother Pharisee, tell me what ails you; perhaps I can be of some assistance." "Sister Makepeace, I don't want to say anything about it, and I wouldn't to anyone in the world but you. The fact is that I am so disgusted with Brother Sharp that it just about makes me sick. Why, he is a reproach to the cause which we so much love. Everyone is talking about him, and I don't believe he has a friend in the church or out of it. His business career is just a sham, and everyone who has had any dealings with him regards him as a sharper, one who will always figure for the best end of a trade, that he might lavish his ill-gotten gains upon his own dear self. Why, he has not a spark of Christianity about him, and everything he does just brings the precious truth into disrepute. Surely our church can't prosper so long as Achan is in the camp. I do feel so sorry for him. Oh, if he could only be converted and see the loveliness of justification by faith in Jesus, what a help he would be to us! But as he is he is only a bone of contention, always ready for a quarrel or a fight. Even his own family can't live with him. He is a perfect tyrant at home, and I have no words suitable to express my pity for poor Sister Sharp and the abused children. It's no wonder his children are so rude and ill behaved; it's just a wonder they do not demoralize the entire Sabbath school." "I thought I would like to talk this matter over with you and see if something couldn't be done to bring about a better state of feeling in the church, and give a higher tone to our work. I called on Sister C. and Brother B., and have talked with two or three others, and they think just about as I do, since I told them how hypocritical Brother Sharp is living. Of course what I have said to you is strictly confidential. I would not say a word against Brother Sharp to injure him, for my motive is just the purest in the world. But I have tarried longer now than I thought to. I must be going. I want to call on Brother J. on my way home and have a little talk with him, and try some way to bring about a better feeling and raise the church up to a higher plane." All this time poor Mrs. Makepeace sat without uttering a single syllable. And when the basket was empty, and Brother Pharisee arose to go, she quietly asked him if he could not remain a few minutes longer, as she wished to ask him a few questions concerning this unruly member. Her request was quite readily granted; and, fixing her keen black eyes upon her guest, she began by saying:— "I have known Brother Sharp for many years, ever since I was a child. I have spent considerable time in his family, and these things which you have told me are so unlike anything I ever noticed in him that I am utterly confounded. I had not the slightest idea he was such a deceptive person." "Yes, Sister Makepeace, he is a bad man, and needs to be severely dealt with." "How long have you known Brother Sharp?" inquired Sister Makepeace. "Ever have any dealings with him?" "Did he act square and honorable with you?" "Gave you all he agreed to for your labor?" "Did you ever hear of his defrauding his help in any way?" "Has he a good reputation among business men?" "Do you know of his quarreling with his neighbors or anyone else?" "Yes, he has quarreled with me." "Anyone else to your knowledge?" "Have you ever visited in his family?" "Was he kind and courteous to his wife and children?" "Yes, while I was there." "Does he provide well for his family, furnish them with proper food, fuel, and raiment, give them a comfortable house to live in, etc.?" "Yes, I suppose so; but then they say that"— "No matter what they say; 'they say' is a liar. Does he not do all he possibly can to make home cheerful and give his children an education?" "Does he let them run wild, and select just such society as they choose, or read such literature as the mind of the young generally craves?" "Is not Brother Sharp noted for his liberality?" "You said his work was a sham and intended to deceive. How do you know?" "Why, it's not as I would do it." "Then he must work to your standard, must he, in order to be just? Now, can't you see, my good Brother Pharisee, that, according to your own acknowledgment, Brother Sharp is not quite so black as the devil has pictured him. But, admitting he is just as sinful as you have thought him to be, how much better are you than he? Can you not see that a person who wants everybody to see as he does, act as he does, and talk as he does, is simply a fit subject for the Dark Ages? Who gave you the authority to judge your brother? What saith the Scripture?— 'Therefore thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest; for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same things.' Rom. 2:1. Don't you know, my brother, that when you go about from house to house circulating reports about your brother, either true or imaginary, you not only cripple his influence, but also belittle yourself and dishonor God by placing yourself in the place of God?" "James says: 'Speak not evil one of another, brethren. He that speaketh evil of his brother, and judgeth his brother, speaketh evil of the law, and judgeth the law; but if thou judge the law, thou art not a doer of the law, but a judge.' James 4:11." "Why do you judge your brother? Who gave you power to discern the thoughts and intents of the heart, that you can pronounce sentence on one man to condemnation, and another to justification? That is not of the Lord, and the individual who engages in such traffic 'is proud, knowing nothing, but doting about questions and strifes of words, whereof cometh envy, strife, railings, evil surmisings.' 1 Tim. 6:4. 'And withal they learn to be idle, wandering about from house to house; and not only idle, but tattlers also and busybodies, speaking things which they ought not.' 1 Tim. 5:13." "Can you not see, my brother, that Satan is at the bottom of this mischief-making, soul-destroying business? And, instead of condemning a weak brother, we should pray for him? Paul says, 'We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let every one of us please his neighbor for his good to edification. For even Christ pleased not himself; but, as it is written, The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell on me.' Rom. 15:1-3." "Let us be careful lest we wound the feelings of one of God's children. 'It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.' Matt. 18:6. When you afflict one of God's children, you afflict Jesus Christ. They are as precious in his sight as the apple of his eye." "It is my opinion, and that opinion is based on the authority of God's word, that when we have anything evil to communicate, derogatory to another, we should first turn to Matt. 7:12, and read the command of the Master: 'Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them, for this is the law and the prophets.' Would you like to be lied about? Would you like to have your faults and failings peddled out before the brethren, and122heralded to the world? Would you?—No. Then don't do so unto others. 'Fret not thyself because of evil doers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity.' 'Cease from anger, and forsake wrath; fret not thyself in anywise to do evil. For evil doers shall be cut off; but those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the earth.'" 'Put away from thee a froward mouth, and perverse lips,' for these things are an abomination unto the Lord. 'A heart that devisseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.' 'Now, my good brother, let me say in conclusion, be careful how you throw stones, lest they rebound and you become wounded. But seek the mind which was also in Christ Jesus. Phil. 2:5. Possessing the mind of Christ we shall do just as Christ did. Then nothing will be done through strife or vainglory, but in lowliness of mind we will esteem others better than ourselves. We shall be eyes to the blind and feet to the lame; and, instead of talking about our brethren, we shall be studying the character of Christ, and in so doing behold the perfect model of character building, and thus grow up into Christ, our living head. 'The apostle says, "Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." '" WHAT OF LIFE?
By Elizabeth Rosser
An hour I, musing, spent among the tombs,—
Those low and narrow, silent, clay-cold rooms,
With silent, clay-cold tenants filled,—and went
From marble monument to monument,
And silently communed with those below;
For of their life on earth I fain would know,
And what they gained from life. I was a king; o'er such a realm I reigned.
The sunlight on some part of it remained
The whole year through, and warriors at my call
Were ever ready on my foes to fall;
And there were pageants gay my heart to glad.
But, oh, my crown was heavy! All I had
Was but my food and clothes. And I was rich. All day I sat at ease,
And nothing did, except myself to please;
I came and went again at my own will;
I saw what eyes might see of life,—and still
A thousand others were as rich and fine;
Another owns the wealth that once was mine.
I had but food and clothes. And I was poor. I labored day by day;
I toiled long hours for but a little pay;
But then,—I saw the pageants going by;
The rich man saw above no bluer sky
Than I. Of everything I had enough,
For, though my food was plain, my clothing rough,
I had my food and clothes. A HELPER in Pundita Ramabai’s Widows’ Home at Poona overheard the following conversation between four of these children, for, though called widows, they are only from ten to twelve years of age. We are sure our young friends will be sorry to hear how sadly they had suffered, and be thankful that these are now in a happy home, and receiving a good education under a kind and clever Indian Christian lady; but they must remember that thousands of these little widows are being as cruelly treated still. Will they not pray that God will raise up friends for them? The lady had been asleep and was awakened by the voices of these children, and this is what she heard them say:— Vitto—I was a mere baby when I was married. We do not look like wives, do we? Yet people call me a "widow," "unlucky," and say I have killed my husband. Chanda—I am also a widow, because my parents say so; but what is the meaning of it I do not understand. They say I shall have to suffer much as I grow older. No one will love me, because I killed and swallowed my husband; but I never saw him; I do not know who he was. Since I am come to this school, all the teachers love me; they try to make me happy, and they never say unkind words to me or think I am unlucky. Vitto—Prya, tell us something about yourself. Prya—What shall I say? I can say one thing, that is, I was miserable, sad, and now I am happy. Sundri—Prya, let us hear your history, and I will tell mine. Prya—My father knew I would be a widow, but he purposely gave me in marriage. All the girls—Prya, Prya, do not say so. How could he know what was in the future? Vitto—Well, sometimes parents do it for the sake of money. Do you know the story of one girl who was here in the school, and was obliged to leave it for her ignorant people’s sake? The poor thing was married when she was five years old. She was given to a man of fifty for one hundred rupees. She went to her mother-in-law’s house. Within a year the miserable man died, leaving behind him a widow six years old. Don’t you think her parents must have had sense enough to know that such a small child given to an old man would become a widow? But they want money, or they do it when they are tired of their daughter. [All looked very solemn and sad.]123Chanda—And also you must have heard of her sufferings; her mother-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law made her work the whole day. The poor girl was abused all the time, and was pinched and thrashed if she made a slight mistake, and was even burnt on her hands, feet, and face with a red-hot iron. When she was ten or twelve years old the cruel people shaved her head and disfigured her. Sundri—Did they really shave her? Then her intense suffering must have begun at an early age. Chanda—Yes, it did commence. Once she told me that she used to work and cook from five in the morning till ten or twelve at night. She had no bed to sleep on, a coarse dress, and got food only once a day; often she was starved and tired, but no one noticed her. She shed bitter tears as she told about it. Prya—You will get thousands of cases like that. I will tell you my history. My mother died when I was nine months old; one of her friends took care of me after her death. When I was only two years and six months old my father wanted me to be married. Then he asked a fortune teller [a Hindu custom], who said that if I were to be married now I should be a widow. I ought not to be married till I was ten. But my father gave me in marriage to a little boy, who died six months after, when I was three. My mother’s friend took care of me till I was six years old, then my father brought me to Bombay. I lived with him four years, cooked for myself, and was very unhappy. My father was a strict Hindu, and did not love me, because I was a widow. My mother’s uncle, seeing my miserable state, put me in this school. My father did not like it, so came to Poona to fetch me out, but was taken ill. I went to see him; he said he wanted to see my head shaved and disfigured [after which the intense suffering always begins]. I began to cry; he would have done it and ruined me, but he died soon, and I was free. Vitto—I will not call myself a widow, because my husband did not die a natural death; he fell into a well and died. The others—We also are not widows, though our husbands fell sick and died; we did not see them, so, after our studies are over, if we wish, we shall marry again. Prya—Now, Sundri, do tell us your story. Sundri—I was married when I was five years old. Now and then I used to go to my mother-in-law’s house, but my mother’s house was far away, so I did not go very often. When I was ten my husband died, and I was called widow and unlucky. My mother cried bitterly. My good brother, who used to love me very much, sent me to this school at once, and says he will let me stay till I pass my examination. All together—How nice that this school is opened for us! At home we used to suffer, but now we are happy like the birds. Everyone loves us here. Saying this the happy group began to laugh and dance, and ran away to play.—Bombay Guardian. GUSTAVUS STEINBERG, a Swedish coin dealer, received through the custom house a collection of exceedingly unique coins, which was exhibited at the Columbian Exposition. The coins came from Sweden, where they circulated in the sixteenth century. They bear more resemblance to pieces of boiler iron after an explosion than to money. The coins are great flat pieces of copper cut into very poor squares. The smallest coin is four inches square, and worth thirty cents; and the largest over a foot square, with a face value of four dollars. Each slab of copper is stamped in several places with an inscription, giving its date of issue and its denomination. The largest weighed over four pounds. These enormous and cumbersome coins were the result of an absurd craze which prevailed several hundred years ago regarding the exclusive use of copper for money. It carried the coinage of copper to absurd lengths, and the people discarded its use. In those days of copper coinage wealthy ladies were compelled to hire an attendant to accompany them, to carry a bucketful of coppers, while shopping.—Selected. The following is a will left by a drunkard of Oswego, New York: "I leave to society a ruined character and a wretched example. I leave to my parents as much sorrow as they can in their feeble state bear. I leave to my brothers and sisters as much shame and mortification as I could bring them. I leave to my wife a broken heart—a life of shame. I leave to each of my children poverty, ignorance, a low character, a remembrance that their father filled a drunkard's grave."—Exchange. Doing Small Things Well
By Richard Cecil
WE are too fond of our own will. We want to be doing what we fancy to be mighty things; but the great thing is to do small things when called to them in a right spirit. Falsehoods and Truths
By Daniel Webster
FALSEHOODS not only disagree with truths, but always quarrel among themselves.—D. Webster. KING ALCOHOL, THE CRUEL.
By Rev. C. H. Mead
KING ALCOHOL sits on his throne and rules with a rod of iron. He strikes to kill and always maims when he does not kill. Tears, hunger, heartache, despair, poverty, ruin, and death are some of the favors he confers on his subjects. He is as heartless as famine, pitiless as pestilence, and cruel as death. When Rome was burning, Nero got his melodies out of the fiddle, but this king gets his music from the sobs of children, the cries of the broken hearted, and the awful crash of doomed souls. Come with me and behold one of his victims. I was told that a man lay dying from drink in a dismal cellar on one of the foulest streets of the city. An outside cellar door, with stone steps which led down from the sidewalk, gave me entrance to a dark, dismal hole in the ground. A woman stood within, and I said, "They tell me a man is dying here." "Yes; he is in the back room." "Back room! Great heavens, can there be anything back of this?" I made my way into the black hole. A candle standing on the head of a barrel gave but a faint glimmer in the foul air, and I needed to wait to get used to the darkness. A groan from a corner showed me where one of the king's victims lay on a little straw spread on the damp floor. I went over to him, knelt by his side, reached over and grasped his bony hand, and said, "My brother, they tell me you are dying." "I am a dying wretch, but for God's sake don't insult me." "Insult you! How have I insulted you?" "When you call a wretch like me brother, it is an insult, for you don't mean it. I am brother to no man, and no man is brother to me." "Give me your hand, for you are my brother. God is your Father and mine. Christ died to save you and me. The gospel is good news for us both. Let me hold your hand while I pray for my brother." "Too late for that. I am beyond all hope. Drink has been my ruin and my curse, and I am lost." He grew excited, and, trying to quiet him, I said, "What is your name?" "I won't tell you my name. I go by such a name, but it's not my real one." "Why won't you tell me your name?" "Because I don't want anyone to know who I am or how I die." "Why not? Perhaps you have someone who loves you yet and would want to know." "No! no!" he cried. "Listen. In a little church—a Presbyterian church—in a little country village over in Pennsylvania, an old, white-haired man stands up every Sunday and preaches this gospel of which you speak. That man is my father, made prematurely old by the ruin of his boy. Back of the church, in a grave, lies my mother. My waywardness broke her heart and sent her to an untimely grave. If my father knew how his only boy died, he would soon lie alongside of my mother. I won't tell you who I am. I am beyond the hope of mercy. Drink has been my ruin. You come too late—too late." He lay dead. A nameless grave in the potter's field contains the body of some preacher's boy. And since that day, 16 years ago, 2,000,000 more have gone down the same road. Yet the king still sits on his throne and laughs over the ruin that makes heaven weep. "How long, O Lord, how long?"—Christian Herald. A MEMORY lay at my heart
Of a prayer said long ago;
It sweetened my day and burst into song,
A harmony rich and low. A word lay warm at my heart,
The word of a friend to me;
And it grew in beauty, and burst into bloom,
Like a bud of my white rose tree. A thought came into my heart,
A thought from the Heart above;
And its fragrance spread to the world without,
For the name of the thought was Love. A memory, and word, and thought!
Ye are seeds from the hand above,
Sown in true hearts that shall bring ye forth
A golden fruitage of Love. MISSION WORK IN MASHONALAND.
A Jesuit missionary writing from Victoria, in Mashonaland, Africa, where war has been raging, gives an interesting account of the natives. "I have been a little about the country, on horseback," he says, "the horse being lent by kind friends, in carts, obtained in the same way, and on foot, trying to organize mission stations at Makorie, forty miles north, where there are six or seven Kaffir kraals. I have also been at Simuto's kraal, fifteen miles north. This last chief is a powerful old fellow, having sway over almost all the kraals near Victoria. They are all very suspicious, and cannot understand why the white man, the Mumrume, wants to come and live with them, instead of remaining at home. It will take a long time before we can do much; the language especially is in the way, a dreadful language, without any fixed vocabulary, and, think of it, changing every ten miles. "Our people here, Mashonas and Makalakas, are in the lowest grade of savages, liars, thieves, loungers, cowards, etc. They live miserably under petty chiefs, who are as miserable as their lowest subject. They hide in mountains and in holes in the rocks, for fear of the Matabeles. These are a fine race compared with the Mashonas. Physically they are not of the negro type. Some, of course, are remarkably ugly—thick lips, flat nose, etc.—but many are to be found with European features, sometimes almost perfect—aquiline nose, fine forehead, decent mustache, and beard growing in Aryan fashion. Take a piece of soap, rub well, and you may introduce them as your friends from the South. These have certainly some Arabian blood in their veins. A nice little party of five lions are walking about within a few miles' distance. I will give them your kindest regards should they call on me. Good-by. Remember me before the Lord."—Catholic News. THE JAPANESE AINU.
By Editor
Two weeks ago we gave a brief account of the religion of the Japanese Ainu, or Ainus, as written by some. The New York Times gives the following account of a visit to the Sabbalien Ainu by B. Douglass Howard. It is interesting as giving an account of this strange people:— "His reception by an old patriarch was a singularly courteous one. The chief shook hands. Being under Russian protection the traveler was an important personage. The place was known as Korsakoff, and the host was the great chief of the 'Aiona rak garu,' which meant 'people who smell of their ancestors.' This lofty title was literally true, for the Ainus may dust themselves, but never wash. "In time Mr. Howard became intimate with the Ainus and never got into trouble with them but once, and that was when he attempted to photograph them. It might have gone badly with him if he had not sacrificed his entire apparatus. A big fire was kindled and the camera was reduced to ashes. Then there was peace. "The author writes that he saw one native whose body was covered with black hairs 'one to three inches in length, the upper parts of the face alone excepted. This peculiarity distinguishes the Ainu from every other known savage race.' The Ainu women he found 'an uninviting looking females' as he ever saw. They were nearly as hairy as the men, had blue blackened lips, with a tattooed, fierce mustache. As they never washed, or combed their hair, they were, undoubtedly, ladies of rank, 'people who smell of their ancestors.' "These Ainu women occupied a social condition somewhat higher than the native dogs, for the male Ainu thought it a degradation to touch any sort of work under any circumstances, except such as pertained strictly to hunting and fishing. The women observed a rule of life, which was to 'speak only when spoken to.' Their best quality was that they never screamed or cackled, and Mr. Howard never once heard them quarrel. They never, however, smiled or laughed. When one of them brought a man a pipe or tobacco, she always retired by walking backward with a punctiliousness resembling Buckingham Palace. On presenting the pipe to her master she went on her knees. With ethnological interest the author examined their clothing, and found a resemblance between the embroidery and that of the North American Indian." MISSIONARIES of all societies testify as to the disappointments experienced in those who seem to be converted, but who were users of opium. The use of the drug seems to blunt the conscience as well as weaken the body. Many who use it are deceitful, and missionaries are often deceived by them, yet there are some instances which strikingly exhibit the power of the gospel to transform even the most degraded users of the drug. One such case is reported by Mr. Ament in a letter in our last number. A similar striking incident is narrated by Rev. Mr. Farthing, of the English Baptist Mission at Tai Yuen Fu: "One young fellow, Wang Wau Chiu, wished 'to be clean, to please God and Jesus.' He entered the refuge a few years after it was opened, having been one of those who had wanted us to help in this work. He broke off with hearty cheerfulness (Pai Hsien Sheng tells me, for I was not present at the time), bearing all pain as but a small due for his sinful indulgence. He gave himself to the study of the truth, and delighted much, as many do, in the singing of hymns. One which he asked me to teach him later on, 'Come to Jesus,' was a favorite. "Well, he was stricken down by influenza, and never managed to shake it off. All through the time of his illness he was bidden by his family and urged by his friends to return to opium, as the illness was put down to his abstinence from the drug. But he refused. 'On such a day in such a moon,' he would tell them, 'I lost that road.' 'You will die,' they persisted. 'Well, then, I am resolved to die clean.' And so the days went by. He died 'clean.' Though one could have craved longer life for him, and could wish he had known more of the truth of God, our joy is this, that he was 'faithful unto death' to what he did know. During the time of his illness he testified of his faith in God repeatedly."—Missionary Herald.