Earlier text: WHAT IS MAN?THOUGHTS FROM THE SEPTUAGINT.
By F. D. Starr
Laban’s Dream.—In Gen. 31:24–29 we find an account of a dream that the Lord gave to Laban, when he was pursuing his son-in-law, Jacob, and the statement is made that the Lord said to him, “Speak not to Jacob either good or bad.” This would seem to prohibit his having any conversation whatever with Jacob. The Septuagint reads, “Take heed to thyself that thou speak not at any time to Jacob evil things.” This rendering would seem to be entirely consistent, for we can not conceive that it would be in any manner improper for Laban to converse with Jacob. He was merely prohibited from saying anything bad to him. Use of the Greek Word εν (in).—There are numerous instances to be found in the Septuagint where the preposition “in” is used with the significance of “among” or “with.” We will give some of these instances. Gen. 34:9, 10: “Give us your daughters and take our daughters for your sons, and dwell in [among] us.” Ex. 25:8: “Thou shalt make me a sanctuary, and I will appear in you.” Ex. 31:13: “Verily my Sabbaths ye shall keep, for they are a sign with me and in you.” Lev. 9:6: “This is the thing which the Lord commanded that ye should do, and the glory of the Lord shall appear in you.” Num. 18:5: “Ye shall keep the charge of the sanctuary and the charge of the altar that there be no wrath any more in the children of Israel.” Deut. 4:14: “In it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, nor thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thine ox, nor thine ass, nor any of thy cattle, nor thy stranger that sojourneth in thee.” Deut. 26:11: “And thou shalt rejoice in every good thing which the Lord thy God hath given unto thee, and unto thy house, thou, and the Levite and the stranger that is in thee.” We think these instances will help to explain Luke 17:20, 21: “The kingdom of God is within (εντος) you.” It will be noticed that the Saviour was speaking to the Pharisees in this instance, and it could hardly be supposed that he would give them the assurance that the kingdom of God was literally within them, that they then had it in their persons. The marginal reading gives the rendering which is doubtless correct. “The kingdom of God is among you.” Another instance of this kind will be found in Deut. 28:43: “The stranger that is within thee shall get up above thee very high, and thou shalt come down very low.” One could not help understanding readily what the term “within” means in this case. It can simply mean “among,” and nothing else. Heliopolis.—This name occurs twice in the Septuagint. The meaning of the name is “the city of the sun.” In Gen. 41:45 it is stated that Pharaoh gave to Joseph the daughter of Potipherah, priest of On, for his wife. The Septuagint has “priest of Heliopolis.” This city, named after the sun and dedicated to the sun, might, with its peculiar form of idolatry, be thus kept in constant remembrance by Joseph and his family if they would allow their minds to be led in that direction. The other instance mentioned of this name is in Ex. 1:11, where it is stated that Pharaoh caused the children of Israel to build treasure cities for him, Pithom and Rameses, and the Septuagint adds, On which is Heliopolis. Doubtless this would mean that these cities were greatly enlarged at this time to be fitted up as treasure cities. Sun-worship was of course the most ancient form of idolatry, and here we have traces of this kind of heathen worship plainly brought to view. The Marks of the Land.—We read in Gen. 42:9 that Joseph said to his brethren, “Ye are spies; to see the nakedness of the land ye are come.” It seems strange that he should speak in that way when, as far as the nakedness of the land was concerned, there were other countries that were in a far more naked and destitute condition than was Egypt. The Septuagint reads, “Ye are spies; to observe the marks of the land ye are come,” or, as the German reads, “Ye are come to see where the land is open.” The proper work of spies would be to see where was the best place to enter the country, and to take observation of the situation in general, to locate some well-defined waymarks, that they might know the route to take in case they decided to make an inroad upon the country. The Location of Goshen.—It would seem from the reading of the Septuagint that the land of Goshen was really a territory distinct from Egypt proper. As stated in Gen. 46:34, Joseph’s brethren were thus instructed by him, to say to Pharaoh, “Thy servants’ trade has been about cattle from their youth even until now, both we, and also our fathers: that ye may dwell in the land of Goshen of Arabia; for every shepherd is an abomination unto the Egyptians.” This would locate Goshen in Arabia, directly to the east of Egypt proper, and thus they could sojourn in the dominions of Pharaoh, although by their occupation they would be an abomination to the Egyptians. It is well known that the Arabians were possessors of flocks and herds like the Israelites. I Am God’s.—The affecting incident related in Gen. 50:15–21, concerning the conversation between Joseph’s brethren and himself, is made still more touching by an expression to be found in the Greek. According to the common version, Joseph said, “Am I in the place of God?” The Septuagint rendering is, “I am God’s.” That ought to be sufficient assurance to his brethren that he could do them no injustice. He belonged to God, and acknowledged that ownership. Beloved, that will be sufficient assurance to-day, if we belong to Christ, and his Spirit dwells in us (Rom. 8:9), we surely will do each other no harm. The God who directs the actions of his servants would lead them to do deeds of mercy and love. MANY years ago a man, brought before a tribunal, was told to relate his story freely, without fear, as it should not be used against him. He commenced to do so, but had not proceeded far before he heard the scratching of a pen behind a curtain. In an instant he was on his guard, for by that sound he knew that, notwithstanding their promise, a record was being taken of what he said. Silently and unseen by us the angel secretaries are taking a faithful record of our words and actions, and even of our thoughts. Do we realize this? And a more solemn question, What is the record they are making? Not long ago I read of a strange list. It was an exact catalogue of the crimes committed by a man who was at last executed on Norfolk Island, with the various punishments he had received for his different offenses. It was written out in small hand by the chaplain, and was nearly three yards long. What a sickening catalogue to be crowded into one brief life! Yet this man was once an innocent child. A mother no doubt bent lovingly over him; a father perhaps looked upon him in pride and joy, and in imagination saw him rise to manhood, honored and trusted by his fellow-men. But the boy chose the path of evil and wrongdoing, regardless of the record he was making, and finally committed an act the penalty of which was death, and he perished miserably upon the scaffold. Dear young reader, your record of life is but just commenced. O, be warned in time, and seek to have a list of which you will not be ashamed when scanned by Jehovah, angels, and men!—Selected. Leaving a Monument of Virtue Through Good Deeds
By Dr. Chalmers
Do good and leave behind you a monument of virtue that the storms of time can never destroy. Write your name in kindness, love, and mercy on the hearts of thousands you come in contact with year by year; you will never be forgotten. Your name, your deeds, will be as legible on the hearts you leave behind as the stars on the brow of evening. Good deeds will shine as the stars of heaven. —Dr. Chalmers. JESUS, seated on the Mount of Olives, gave instruction to his disciples concerning the signs which should precede his coming: “As the days of Noah were, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be. For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark, and knew not until the flood came and took them all away; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.” Matt. 24:37–39. The same sins that brought judgments upon the world in the days of Noah, exist in our day. Men and women now carry their eating and drinking so far that they end in gluttony and drunkenness. This prevailing sin, the indulgence of perverted appetite, inflamed the passions of men in the days of Noah, and led to widespread corruption. Violence and sin reached to heaven. This moral pollution was finally swept from the earth by means of the flood. The same sins of gluttony and drunkenness benumbed the moral sensibilities of the inhabitants of Sodom, so that crime seemed to be the delight of the men and women of that wicked city. Christ thus warns the world: “Likewise also as it was in the days of Lot; they did eat, they drank, they bought, they sold, they planted, they builded; but the same day that Lot went out of Sodom it rained fire and brimstone from heaven, and destroyed10them all. Even thus shall it be in the day when the Son of man is revealed.” Luke 17:28–30. Christ has here left us a most important lesson. He would lay before us the danger of making our eating and drinking paramount. He presents the result of unrestrained indulgence of appetite. The moral powers are enfeebled, so that sin does not appear sinful. Crime is lightly regarded, and passion controls the mind, until good principles and impulses are rooted out, and God is blasphemed. All this is a result of eating and drinking to excess. This is the very condition of things which Christ declares will exist at his second coming. The Saviour presents to us something higher to toil for than merely what we shall eat and drink, and wherewithal we shall be clothed. Eating, drinking, and dressing are carried to such excess that they become crimes. They are among the marked sins of the last days, and constitute a sign of Christ’s soon coming. Time, money, and strength, which belong to the Lord, but which he has intrusted to us, are wasted in superfluities of dress and luxuries for the perverted appetite, which lessen vitality, and bring suffering and decay. It is impossible to present our bodies a living sacrifice to God when we continually fill them with corruption and disease by our own sinful indulgence.—Christian Temperance. THE COMMISSION TO GRIND.
By J. J. Maxfield
Grind, grind
The poor unfortunate under your heel;
If he owes you a dollar, or even a real,
Go after him lively—your duty is plain—
The law will be with you, so at him again!
Here's greed for the grasping, for many or few,
For rich corporations, monopolies too,
The bloated bondholder, the gamblers in stocks,
For any prime factor possessing the rocks,
No matter how honest your victim may be,
Just raise him a peg that your neighbors may see
That duty alone is the motive to grind
To dust or to powder each debtor you find. Grind, grind;
Your victim may think you severe for awhile;
He'll learn by degrees it is only your style;
Just think him a liar whatever his plea,
And tell him that mercy lies over the sea;
Be sure that you rake him until he is dumb,
But tell him you mean it—the dollar must come.
Your conscience may plead and your victim implore,
And thoughts of hereafter may trouble you sore,
But pity is weakness, and not in your role,
For softness like that there's no room in your soul.
Just buy up your conscience that brands you a fraud
By giving a shilling for missions abroad. Grind, grind;
The poor man that toils in your vineyard to-day
Has only the claim on your promise to pay;
Your duty is clear—you've the right of a man
To get him to serve you as cheap as you can,
And if it is less than will buy him his bread,
So much for your shrewdness—you’re that much ahead—
No matter how empty his larder has grown,
How dreary the winter, how hungry and lone
His wife and his children are sitting to-day
In the comfortless hovel just over the way.
Though sleepless with cold they may wait for the dawn,
So tired and cheerless, life's sunshine all gone,
What matter to you is the prayer or the groan
That rises in sadness to Him on the throne?
Your duty is urgent, and clearly defined,
And lies in your wonderful aptness to grind. Grind, grind;
The grist is all ready, and why should you wait,
For rich or for poor, for the lowly or great?
The dollar is yours, and you need it to-day,
So grind out the money and hasten away
To find the next victim, whatever his case,
And grind him to powder, but show him no grace,
For business is business, and you are the man
To grind out the dollar whenever you can.
To yield one iota is weakness to you,
And don't you forget it; whatever you do,
Don't let any pitiful story—or “snide”—
Go through your old stingy rhinoceros hide,
For stoics like you are not easy to find
Who have such fine qualifications to grind. Grind, grind,
Though penniless Lazarus stands at your gate
And tells you his story and begs you to wait;
His rent is past due, and his barrel of meal
Has wasted untimely, yet, down with your heel!
And, spite of the sickness and famine he pleads,
The lack of employment to furnish his needs,
Be firm and unyielding, and deaf as a post,
But show him of mercy not even a ghost.
The sternness within that has cost you so dear
'Twere folly to yield at the sight of a tear;
The man is a dog and is having his day,
And not to be spared if unable to pay.
Next Sabbath at church you can sit in your pew,
So quiet and saintly, as good people do,
And, while you are mingling your prayers and your tears,
The parson in black may allay all your fears,
And order his sermon to tickle your ears. “DISTRUST AND DISCOUNT NUMBERS.”
By W. N. G.
THE entry of the church into the politics of the country in behalf of certain “reform” measures, is a virtual submission of the question of the correctness of those doctrines to the decision of the majority. That this is true is evidenced by the fact that when the majority—or the law, which is supposed to represent the sentiment of the majority—is on the side of the church, that is always pleaded against those who do not coincide with the views in question, whatever they may be. For instance, the persecution of observers of the seventh-day Sabbath in various parts of this country is indorsed by the masses of those who adhere to the first day because of the “insignificant number” of the persecuted class. Touching this idea of majority righteousness, the following paragraph from the pen of Rev. Philip Graif, in the Pacific Coast Endeavorer, is to the point:— “Learn to distrust and discount numbers. To trust Heaven more than majorities is to be free, and happy, and powerful. One God made the universe; one man may successfully front the world, one mind see higher truth than a parliament of legislators or a congress of theologians.”” This thought is emphasized by the Scripture account of the persecution of Jesus Christ, under pretext of legal process. It will be remembered that the Jews (the church people of that day) pleaded the law in extenuation of their act. They said, “We have a law, and by our law he ought to die.” The majority were against Christ,—not only the popular church, but the world and the government, being appealed to by the church, sustained it. Here is the statement, as included in a prayer of certain disciples:— “The kings of the earth stood up, and the rulers were gathered together against the Lord, and against his Christ. For of a truth against thy holy child Jesus, whom thou hast anointed, both Herod, and Pontius Pilate, with the gentiles, and the people of Israel, were gathered together.” Acts 4: 26, 27. Among the instructions given to Israel through Moses was this, “Thou shalt not follow a multitude to do evil.” Ex. 23: 2. And the counsel is good yet, whether the “multitude” be professedly the servants of God or ordinary gentiles. To be on the Lord’s side is of more importance than to be with the human majority. W. N. G. THE SPIRIT OF WAR.
By Lee S. Wheeler
“PREPARE war, wake up the mighty men, . . . for the day of the Lord is near.” Joel 3:9-14. “And the nations were angry, and thy wrath is come, and the time of the dead, that they should be judged.” Rev. 11:18. “And there shall be a time of trouble, such as never was since there was a nation.” Dan. 12:1. Such, it is declared, is to be the condition of the world just preceding the end. Rapidly within the last few years there has been a simultaneous arming of nations, “as if with a prophetic understanding that a terrible and portentous crisis is at hand.” All the modes of warfare have been changed; the awful forces of nature have been utilized, and terrible explosives brought into action. Every resource has been ransacked to furnish material for the conflict. Since 1860 the demand for arms upon the Krupp Gun Works is said to have necessitated an increase of from 176 to more than 20,000 employees. The construction of immense navies and the support of rapidly-increasing armies has drained the resources, and brought the nations to the very verge of bankruptcy. Everywhere an impulse is rallying the military spirit. The daily papers are full of war stories. The career of Napoleon, destined to revive the spirit of his times, is the craze of literature. There is a call for military instruction in the schools. Even the churches, unable to cope with the strange infatuation so foreign to the Gospel of peace, are filling up with “boys’ brigades,” and drilling their sons in the tactics of war. Alas! is not this that spirit which should “go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty”? Rev. 16:14. THE CHILD AT THE DOOR.
By Mary A. Lathbury
There’s a child outside your door,
Let him in.
He may never pass it more—
Let him in.
Let a little wandering waif
Find a shelter sweet and safe
In the love and light of home;
Let him come. There’s a cry along your street
Day by day;
There’s a sound of little feet
Gone astray.
Open wide your guarded gate
For the little ones that wait,
Till a voice of love from home
Bid them come. There’s a Voice divinely sweet
Calls to-day:
“Will you let these little feet
Stay away?”
Let the lambs be homeward led,
And of you it shall be said,
‘You have done it faithfully
Unto Me.’” We shall stand some solemn day
At His door.
Shall we hear the Master say,
O’er and o’er,
“Let the children all come in
From a world of pain and sin;
Open wide the doors of Home;
Children, come”? BLOWIN' THE GOSPEL TRUMPET.
One hot July day, long ago (in 1839), I was accidentally passing the great Turkish customhouse in Galata, Constantinople, and I found a crowd obstructing the street. Penetrating it I found a poor mortal against the wall, apparently dying in the pains of cholera. His condition was indescribably revolting. I said, “Do you speak English?” “Yes—your eyes,” he replied, turning upon me a look of anguish, or fierce hatred, I hardly knew which. He knew the inhuman crowd was waiting to see him die. “Are you American or English?” “American,” with the same or far worse profanity. I tried to get a couple of porters (homals), usually ready for any such service, to take him and his sack of clothes to a sailors’ boarding house near by. No one would touch him. I offered large pay in vain, when two noble colored sailors, Jamaica negroes, offered to take him without pay. The boarding house rejected us. We went to the English marine hospital, to be rejected in like manner. The two Jamaicans poured out the most awful maledictions upon the English consul, to whom I appealed in vain, and the sick man joined them, until I ordered them to stop, in quick, sharp tones they were accustomed to hear on deck, and not an oath was uttered after that. I then had him carried to the boathouse of Nicola, a good, kind Italian boatman, who had nursed Captain Holt, of Andover, through a long and dangerous illness. He assented to my leaving him in his bunk until I could run and call our doctor, Stamotiodes. The common sailors are generous fellows, faithful to each other unto death. I could not find our doctor, but in the search I most providentially met with Dr. Riach, a Scotch physician of experience in India and Persia. I seized upon him and took him to the boathouse. “Small chance for this poor fellow,” said Dr. Riach, “but administer this prescription; it is all I would do for him to-night.” The druggist first refused to make up the prescription, because “it would kill any man.” But I compelled him to make it up quick, and when I had administered it, I found Dr. Stamotiodes, who took the case in hand with great kindness and attention. One evening he sent word to me to come and bury Brown in the morning; he would not live through the night, and the heat made immediate burial necessary. I went, but the case had turned toward life, and Brown slowly recovered. The Rev. Mr. Hibbard was staying with us, an invalid missionary from Beirut. He visited Brown daily, or if not able to, then Dr. Goodell or myself took his place. He seemed to be truly penitent for all his sinful and abandoned life. He was about twenty-five, had learned to read in his boyhood, but had nearly lost it in his vile, degraded life. Brother Hibbard helped him recover what he had lost, and in two or three weeks he could read a chapter in the New Testament, with some few hitches. When at length, after waiting for weeks, the consul found a passage for him home, he bade me good-by with a sailor’s heart, and said, “I have hitherto done all the evil I could in life, and now I am going to try to do good;” and so Marcus Brown departed, and I did not hope to hear from him again. About a year after Mr. Calhoun, returned missionary, wrote me: “Your sailor holds out a true Christian, and was in Father Taylor’s prayer meeting, and when opportunity for prayer was given, a sailor burst out with: ‘O God, I thank thee for the American missionaries. When I was dying, a poor blasphemous dog, in a street of Constantinople, thou didst send thy servants Hamlin, Hibbard, and Goodell, to save me, soul and body,’ and so on through a unique and earnest prayer, which called forth hearty amens.” Mr. Calhoun failed to find him in the crowd after the meeting, and perhaps another year passed, when I had a very characteristic letter from Brown, not always correctly spelled, but full of life and earnestness. It began, “Dear, dear Mr. Hamlin: Thank God I still survive the ded.” He told of his shipwreck, when he “found his feet standing on the rock Christ Jesus,” “and now I am blowin’ the Gospel trumpet on the Erie Canal.” I went over and read the letter to Father Goodell. He clapped his hands and said, “Let me begin the reply to that letter,” and taking a sheet of paper he wrote: “DEAR MR. BROWN: Blow away, brother, blow.
“Yours in blowin’ the same Gospel trumpet,
“WILLIAM GOODELL.” I know not if he ever received the letter. Twenty-eight years passed away from that contest with death on that hot July day, and, in all the excitement, anxieties, and cares of missionary life, the rescued sailor was forgotten. In 1867 I was dining at the Hotel Newton, Rue de St. Augustine, Paris, at the time of the great Exposition. Near the close of the dinner, at which were seated men and women of different nations and languages, the gentleman sitting at my right turned to me and said:— “I see you are from Constantinople, sir. May I ask if, while there, you chanced to meet with one Cyrus Hamlin,” etc. “I am the person you ask for, sir.” After expressing his surprise and pleasure, he said: “I am just from Honolulu, and I have long wished I could ask you about a sailor, Brown, who has been a sort of sailors’ missionary in the islands, and has done a great deal of good among the seamen of all nations. He has told me how he was dying, a ‘blasphemous dog’ (his own language), in Constantinople, and how you rescued him, and so on and on. Now I want to know how much of this is a sailor’s ‘yarn,’ or is it all true, for he seems to be a man of great simplicity?” “Why! the sailor Brown?” I replied. “I had forgotten him. It is all true, and I bless God that I hear from him again.” The reader will see in this brief story that we can rarely know what good may result from a simple act of kindness, of humanity. Once in a while the good done may become known, but not often. Constantinople, Boston, Erie Canal, Honolulu, and Paris, with twenty-eight years between, do not often come together to reveal what is done. But no good deed is lost. “God will multiply your seed sown, and increase your fruits of righteousness.”—Golden Rule. EFFECTS OF CRIMINAL AND GHOST STORIES ON THE MINDS OF CHILDREN.
By J. F. Tolson
To ILLUSTRATE clearly the terrible effects of criminal and ghost stories on the minds of children, I can do no better than to relate my own childhood experience, and will do so, hoping that a knowledge of my experience may prove a blessing to others. But, first of all, I would like to have it understood that I am a semi-mute, and have been one since early childhood. Very early in my teens my stepmother often related to me dreadful criminal and ghost stories of every description, making such a strong impression of dread and fear on my childish mind that I began to suspect even my friends, and spent many a sleepless night. When I was fourteen years old, my beloved father died. Our property was sold to pay the family debt, and we—my brothers and sisters and myself—were scattered, as it were, to the four winds. Timidly and with trembling footsteps I set out to make my way as best I could in this wide world—very wide indeed for my undeveloped childish mind. At length a benevolent woman, seeing my condition, took me to herself, and gave me employment in her hotel. She gave me a snug little room in one wing of the hotel, the hall of which opened on the outside. The first night I could not sleep at all. Stories of dreadful murders and thefts which my stepmother had so often recited to me came vividly before my mind, filling me with superstitious dread and fear. I was still more frightened to find the door lock broken. I fastened the door as best I could, and then sat down to wait the result, expecting every moment to see some bloodthirsty fiend push the door open, and enter; but no such thing happened. The next morning I told the landlady I would leave at once unless she gave me a room in the center of the building. She very kindly consented, and gave me a room next to her own. But, though I found a good lock on the door, I did not feel safe even there. Sometimes I would peep through the keyhole of the doors about me to assure myself that there were no instruments of murder in the rooms occupied by others. I would often get up in the night and look out of the window to see if there was not some one trying to get into my room by climbing up that way, and I often fancied I saw some one, causing my hair to stand on end. Afterwards, while traveling, I put up for the night in a hotel in another town. Here the same old fear took possession of my superstitious mind. I examined every nook and corner of the room they assigned to me, to ascertain if there was any floor trap. Finding nothing wrong, I lay down, and tried to go to sleep, but frightful pictures passing before my mind drove sleep from my eyes, and I was in a raving condition several hours. Soon I could bear it no longer, and arose, and, while dressing, shouted downstairs, “I am coming,” doubtless startling the sleepers in the adjoining rooms. I then went down, and was glad to find that the landlord had not yet retired. I paid my bill, and then went to another hotel, where I spent a sleepless night.11 O, that all parents, aye, and all who associate with children, could comprehend the terrible evils of frightful stories on children’s minds! I do not doubt but that a large share of insanity in the world is the direct result of such training. As I look back upon it now, I can not but thank an overruling Providence for interposing, and preventing actual insanity. Since then I have learned to trust our all-wise heavenly Father’s care, and do not fear anything now. To him be all the praise. THE GREAT MELA AT ALLAHABAD.
By R. Baker
The city of Allahabad, in the Northwest Provinces of India, has been the scene of a great and—to Hindus—very important mela (religious fair or festival). The city is one of the sacred places of India, of which there are 8,400,000. Several reasons are given for its sacredness, which are rather confusing. We give what is most generally accepted. The city is built at the junction of three sacred rivers: (1) The Ganges, said to flow from the head of Mahadev; (2) the Jumna, made holy by the sportive play of Krishna; (3) the Saraswati, named after the wife or daughter of Brahma, creator of the universe. This last river is said to lose itself in the deserts of Rajputána and flow underground until it reaches Allahabad. Here it issues from the ground at the junction of the other two rivers, and may be seen like a burnished golden ribbon four times daily. The month “Māgh” is held in honor by the gods, and in this month we may most profitably worship them. In this month, too, the sun changes its course, so that it is lucky to die. The annual mela is held on this account. This year the mela has been greater than usual; it was not only the annual mela, but also the “Kumbha” mela. “Kumbha” is Sanscrit for pitcher, and the name given to that sign of the Zodiac we call “Aquarius,” the water carrier. Should the sun and moon be in this sign during any part of the month Māgh, the eleventh Hindu month, then is held the Kumbha mela. This occurs every twelfth year, and thousands of fakirs or Sadhus come from all parts of the country, adding thereby to the sacredness of the place and the gathering. Another reason why the mela was greater was because of the report that this was to be the last Kumbha mela, as, according to the teaching of the Hindu sacred books, when the Kalijug (age of sin—the present age) had half run out, the Ganges would lose its sacredness. The mela was held on the stretch of land in the fork of the two rivers. The fort is built along the bank of the Jumna, which in flood season rises and washes the walls of the building. The other side of the fort, toward the Ganges, is, during the dry season, some distance from the bank. In flood season the river becomes almost a sea, the stream being not less than two miles wide. As the water subsides, the river makes for itself a course somewhat in this space, generally near the far bank, but this year it has come quite near, making its bed within half a mile of the fort. Upon this narrow strip of land the mela was to be held—a very small space for the millions expected. The authorities wisely ordered the fakirs—some thousands—to take up stations on the far side, and for their use built a bridge of boats. Taking our stand on the corner bastion of the fort that commands the confluence, we get some idea of the mass of people who have come from all parts of the country. To our right flows the Jumna; before us flows the Ganges, the spur of land between crowded to its utmost limits with eager pilgrims. Here you see them bathing by the shore or putting off in boats to bathe at the junction of the waters. On the further bank of the Ganges may be seen the huts of the Sadhus, while the rising ground in this far distance is the opposite shore of the river in flood season. Turning a little to the left, we have the whole tract of land before us crowded with people, the number variously estimated at from two to four millions. Here in the near foreground we see the clothes of bathers suspended or laid on the ground to dry, temporary grass huts for those who come from great distances. Toward the shore we see numbers of flags and banners, bearing all manner of devices, from pictures of their gods to English soldiers; in the distance to the right may be seen the bridge of boats. Descending from our point of vantage we make our way to the riverside, where we have a near view of the bathers. Here we see them in all attitudes going through their ablutions. It is interesting to notice some of the figures; you have the strong, healthy man, weak and timid woman, fearing to cross the narrow strip of water, the young and innocent child. Moving among the people we see much to grieve over, much that fills us with shame. Look! there is a boy turning and twisting his body into all kinds of fantastic shapes, several men behind making “music” on strange instruments. There you see a dwarf, with distorted hands and feet, and this we are told is honored as an incarnation of Vishnu. Here we see three children dressed to represent Ram, Lakshman, and Sita, before whom the poor simple people cast their pice, considering they are doing a meritorious act. As we move through the crowd we see many oxen, sacred in the eyes of the Hindu; people are eagerly seizing their tails and pouring out libations of holy(?) water, that they may be assisted in reaching the far shores of the dark stream of existence (personal). We also see a little group of women walking several times round a small tree temporarily placed in the ground. It is the pipal tree, an object of worship. See, it is decorated with various colored threads and bits of rag; two earthen jars stand near. The women are making their offerings of leaves, flowers, rice, and water, after which they walk around the tree and go away. Moving on a little further we come upon a ghastly scene—the body of a boy apparently headless lying on his back on the sand in the full glare of the midday sun. What can it be? What can it mean? Simply a method of getting a few coppers. Scooping a hole in the sand he lays his head in it, covering his face with a cloth to protect mouth and eyes; he then heaps up on the cloth the loose sand from the hole. He has spread out by his side a square of calico to receive the gifts of lookers-on, who throw down corn or coppers, the boy with one hand, the only sign of life except the breathing, patting his stomach to call attention to his needy circumstances. But if we wish to see the Sadhus en masse, we must cross the river. We have a difficulty to secure a boat, but finally succeed in persuading a man to take us to the bridge of boats. There has been a little rain a day or two previous, and the river has risen, washing away certain parts that have been banked up, there not being sufficient water to allow of boats. Reaching the unbroken part we notice the force of the stream, which rushes by like a torrent. As we mount the opposite bank we see on all sides the huts built for the accommodation of the Sadhus. Almost the first thing we see is a man lying on a spiked bed. His face is bright and intelligent. He can speak a little English, having read in one of the schools. To what depths has he descended that he should afflict his body in this way? He wishes by doing this to acquire merit sufficient to overbalance the demerit caused by his sins, the only idea or method the Hindu knows for the putting away of sin. We tell him of the love of Christ, who gave his life a ransom for many. He prefers his own opinions, because12perhaps it brings him glory in the eyes of his fellow-men. We see numbers of these figures, their body smeared with mud and ashes, their long, matted hair about their faces and shoulders, and sometimes made up into twists or plaits reaching almost to the ground. One man has held up his left arm so long that it is now impossible to bring it down to its proper place, but it stands up in the air like a pole, while the nails have grown three or four inches long, and are circling in fantastic shapes about his wrists. We come upon a group just about to begin their meal. These are the holy men of India, men who, abandoning the world and its allurements and pleasures, give themselves to a life of severe asceticism. By meditation (?) they claim to overcome all their passions and bring their bodies into complete subjection. Some of them never speak; they wear as little clothing as possible, and feed upon what others would consider refuse, sometimes taking scarcely anything of any kind. They are held in the highest esteem by the Hindus. There is another set of Sadhus, their specialty being the worship of a book. This they place upon a cushion and cover over it an embroidered cloth. One, said to be a Pundit, reads from portions of the book, the chelas (disciples) sitting around under the canopy listening, but not understanding a single word. We hear there is one man who swung himself over a fire, but we do not come across him. But now the all-important moment is drawing near; there is to be a grand procession of the Sadhus to bathe at the junction. See, it is on its way now; away in the distance you can see a cluster of flags above the heads of the people. They are borne by men seated on elephants leading the procession. Just as the elephants come within thirty yards of us, they turn aside and form in line on the opposite side of the way, while a man gayly dressed in salmon-colored satin garments and mounted on a white horse leads the way. He is followed by several groups of musicians—the most motley crews you ever saw—several rajahs, or princes, carried in their palanquins, and then the fakirs; and how can I describe them? Shame covers my face as I see their condition—not one or two, but hundreds, walking two by two, and every one clad in nature’s garb, their bodies smeared from head to foot with mud and ashes, their hair in a clotted mass about their heads and faces. After them comes a long line of others all but naked, and these are followed by many more. And now they have all passed on to the river, and the road is clear, giving us a good view of the elephants on the other side; we have just time to take a picture of them ere the fakirs begin their return journey. As they pass, having been only ankle-deep in the water, we see the reverence with which they are greeted. As they move along, the eager crowd rushes forward to touch the ground upon which these holy men have trodden. Some stoop down and press their foreheads on the footprints; others take up the dirt and smear themselves on forehead, cheeks, and arms. During the day there are seven such processions, with repetition of details; one was said to consist of no less than 10,000 fakirs. Outside the mela proper, on the roads leading to the rivers, positions had been allotted to the missionaries, and every day the seed of the word was sown broadcast upon the assembling multitudes. Many interesting conversations took place, and much that was said may mature and fructify elsewhere. —Church Missionary Gleaner.