[The following is from a tract by Rev. Archibald C. Brown, of East London (Eng.) Tabernacle. Published by Fleming H. Revell Co., New York.]
DIFFERENT days demand their own special testimony. The watchman who would be faithful to his Lord and the city of his God, has need to carefully note the signs of the times and emphasize his witness accordingly. Concerning the testimony needed now there can be little, if any, doubt. An evil is in the professed camp of the Lord, so gross, so brazen in its impudence that the most shortsighted of spiritual men can hardly fail to notice it.
During the past few years it has developed at an abnormal rate even for evil. It has worked like leaven, until now the whole lump ferments. Look which way you may, its presence makes itself manifest. There is little, if anything, to choose between church, chapel, or mission hall. Amusement for the people is the leading article advertised by each. If any of my readers doubt my statement, or think my utterance too sweeping, let them take a tour of inspection and study the "announcements for the week," or let them read the religious advertisements in their local papers. I have done this again and again, until the hideous fact has been proved up to the hilt that amusement is ousting the preaching of the gospel as the great attraction. "Concerts," "Entertainments," "Fancy Fairs," "Dramatic Performances," are the words honored with biggest type and most startling colors. The concert is fast becoming as much a recognized part of church life as the prayer meeting, and is already, in most places, far better attended.
"Providing recreation for the people" will soon be looked upon as a necessary part of Christian work, and as binding upon the church of God as though it were a divine command, unless some strong voices be raised which will make themselves heard. I do not presume to possess such a voice; but I do entertain the hope that I may awaken some louder echoes. Anyway, the burden of the Lord is upon me in this matter, and I leave it with him to give my testimony ringing tone, or let it die away in silence. I shall have delivered my soul in either case. Yet the conviction fills my mind that in all parts of the country there are faithful men and women who see the danger and deplore it, and will indorse my witness and my warning.
It is only during the past few years that amusement has become a recognized weapon of our warfare, and developed into a mission. There has been a steady down grade in this respect. From "speaking out," as the Puritans did, the church has gradually toned down her testimony, then winked at and excused the frivolities of the day. Then she has tolerated them in her borders, and now she has adopted them and provided a home for them, under the plea of reaching the masses, and getting the ear of the people. The devil has seldom done a cleverer thing than hinting to the church of Christ that part of her mission is to provide entertainment for the people, with a view to winning them into her ranks. The human nature that lies in every heart has risen to the habit. Here, now, is an opportunity of gratifying the flesh and yet retaining a comfortable conscience. We can now please ourselves in order to do good to others. The rough old cross can be exchanged for a "costume," and the exchange can be made with the benevolent purpose of elevating the people.
All this is terribly sad, and the more so because truly gracious souls are being led away by the specious pretext that it is a form of Christian work. They forget that a seemingly beautiful angel may be the devil himself, "for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light." 2 Cor. 11:14.
My first contention is that PROVIDING AMUSEMENT FOR THE PEOPLE IS NOWHERE SPOKEN OF IN HOLY SCRIPTURE AS ONE OF THE FUNCTIONS OF THE CHURCH. What her duties are will come under our notice later on. At present it is the negative side of the question that we are dealing with. Now, surely, if the Lord had intended his church to be the caterer of entertainment, and so counteract the god of this world, he would hardly have left so important a branch of service unmentioned. If it is Christian work, why did not Christ at least hint it? "Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature," is clear enough. So would it have been if he had added, "and provide amusement for those who do not relish the gospel." No such addendum, however, is to be found, nor even an equivalent for such, in any one of our Lord’s utterances. This style of work did not seem to occur to his mind. Then, again, Christ as an ascended Lord gives to his church specially qualified men for the carrying on of his work, but no mention of any gift for this branch of service occurs in the list. "He gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers; for the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ." Where do the public entertainments come in? The Holy Ghost is silent concerning them; and its silence is eloquent.
If providing recreation be a part of the church’s work, surely we may look for some promise to encourage her in the toilsome task. Where is it? There is a promise for "My word," that it "shall not return unto Me void." There is a heart-rejoicing declaration concerning the gospel,—"it is the power of God." There is the sweet assurance for the preacher of Christ that, whether he be successful or no—as the world judges success—he is a "sweet savor unto God." There is the glorious benediction for those whose testimony, so far from amusing the world, rouses its wrath: "Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad; for great is your reward in heaven; for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you." Were the prophets persecuted because they amused the people? or because they refused to? The gospel of amusement has no martyrology. In vain does one look for a promise from God for providing recreation for a godless world. That which has no authority from Christ, no provision made for it by the Spirit, no promise attached to it by God, can only be a lying hypocrite when it claims to be a branch of the work of the Lord.
(To be continued.)
Our Relation to Others
“I HAVE been a member of your church for thirty years,” said an elderly Christian to his pastor, “and when I was laid by with sickness for a week or two, only one or two came to visit me. I was shamefully neglected.” “My friend,” said the pastor, “in all those thirty years how many sick have you visited?” “Oh,” he replied, “it never struck me in that light! I thought only of the relation of others to me, and not of my relation to them.”—Christian Register.
LAW AND LOVE.
By H. F. Phelps
[The following, with the above title, is from the American Messenger, published by the American Tract Society, dated New York, November, 1893. We commend it to the reader for its logic and truth. H. F. PHELPS.]
THE son who should say, “I do not obey my father because I love him so much,” would be thought a poor type of filial piety. If he explained by saying, “My father does not desire my obedience; he prefers my love,” it would be held that he had a very low apprehension of his father’s character. If he added, “My father respects my liberty so much that he has preferred to absolve me from obedience, taking my love as an equivalent for it,” it would very properly be concluded that he was ignorant of the true meaning both of liberty and love.
Yet this is very much the way that many Christians feel, if we may judge of them either by their words or by their conduct. They misconstrue both Christian liberty and Christian love. Because the first and great commandment is to love God with all the powers, they think themselves absolved from obedience to the other commandments. “Love is the fulfilling of the law,” they say, meaning that love is the dispensing with the law. The liberty wherewith Christ hath made them free is, they think, a condition in which they are no longer subject to his law.
Yet they do not find this theory borne out by the analogy of human law. It is the man who obeys the law of the land who is at liberty, not he who breaks it and is imprisoned. The man who lives at peace with his neighbor is under no bondage to the law against murder, nor the honest man to the law against theft. Such men as these desire the existence and enforcement of those laws; they are the very charter of their freedom.
So it was with the Psalmist, who sang, “I will walk at liberty, for I seek thy precepts.” Not he who has no law to keep, but he who loves to keep the law, is the free man. “I delight to do thy will, O my God,” is the spirit of the man who truly loves God. Liberty is liberty to do right; love delights in obedience.
There is no antagonism between election and free will to those who “elect unto good works,” “called to be saints,” desire with their whole hearts to be saintly and to do good works. So the son who truly loves his father has no desire to be absolved from his obedience. He feels himself most free when with truest love he walks in the way of his commandments.
CAUGHT IN A BLIZZARD.
By J. Josiah Munro
A Story of Southern Minnesota.
BY J. JOSIAH MUNRO.
LESS than a score of years ago I left my home in the East and settled in Southwestern Minnesota, not far from the Iowa State line, and about the same distance from what was then known as Dakota Territory. In those days the country was new and sparsely settled, and nearly all of the surrounding region savored of wild frontier life.
In my Eastern home I had heard and read many fanciful stories of Western life. I knew that whatever I heard or read of the Indians I could believe or disbelieve at will. Stories of grasshoppers coming down in clouds upon the plains and eating grass and grain of every description down to the roots, I found to be substantially correct. Indeed, farmers and ranchmen on a visit to their Eastern homes told just such experiences, and nobody doubted them for a moment.
But I refused positively to take much stock in most of the stories that were told of Minnesota blizzards. In fact, I told my friends in the East on many occasions that I would rather wait and see a blizzard for myself before I believed all that was said of them.
But, although I had so often discounted these "blizzard yarns," and put little credence in them, I had not been long on the frontier before I was convinced that a wild blizzard was something to be greatly dreaded. What convinced me most of all was I had met several persons who had nearly lost their lives on the prairie during such storms, and they had always a bitter experience to tell.
On the train two hundred miles northwest of Chicago I met an old settler who told me that where he lived he was compelled to connect his house and barn in wintertime with a rope or thick cord, so as to be able to do his chores during a blizzard. A genuine "nor'wester," as the frontiersman called the worst blizzard, lasts all the way from two to five days. And cases have been told the writer by men of veracity of persons whom they knew who had lost their lives trying to go from their house to the barn—not more than ten rods away. There was no rope, of course, to guide them, and, having lost their reckoning, they wandered all over and finally perished in the snow.
A neighbor of mine, a Vermonter, told me his experience after he had battled with the elements for three days. I pitied his unfortunate condition, for he was a sad picture to look upon. Sam Johnson started from his home on a beautiful November day for Dell Rapids, less than twenty miles away. It was all prairie in those days, with only a "dug-out" or "sod house" every few miles. He had with him a team of oxen and a common lumber wagon, and took a load of grist to the mill. He was not able to start for home till late in the afternoon, but did not mind that, as his oxen were steady and he had trained them to trot moderately when necessary. After he left Dell Rapids it began to snow; then the wind began to blow furiously. If he had turned back to the Rapids, he would have been all right, but he battled against the storm for two or three hours. It was in vain. The fates seemed to be against him. In a little while he became exhausted, and, after wandering to and fro on the dark prairie, driven hard by the furious elements, he gave up the fight. When he found that he could do nothing more, he loosed the oxen and let them go whither they would. Then, with the remaining strength he possessed, he turned over the wagon box on the ground and lay under it. In a short time the snow piled over him all the way from fifteen to twenty feet.
In this condition he remained from Tuesday night till Thursday about noon, when the wind went down and the sun shone out upon the prairie. This was a long time to remain buried in a snow pile; such an experience would have killed most men, but this man came out alive. It must be said, however, that Johnson did not know how bad off he really was till he began to resurrect himself from his snow-clad sepulcher; then he discovered that his body was frozen in several places. Neighbors by this time had gone out in search of him and carried him home.
When a physician was called in, it was found that the time he spent in the snow pile proved to be a sad experience. His right leg had to be amputated at the knee. Two or three toes of the other foot, several fingers, parts of both ears, and parts of his nose and face were frozen. These parts had to be taken away to save his life. He was under medical treatment many months. When he left the house, he was sadly disfigured. During his recovery his life had been despaired of several times, and he doubtless would have died had he not been one of the toughest of mortals. This man I personally knew, and after I heard his experience, my blizzard skepticism vanished. After the winter had fully set in that year, I watched several "juvenile blizzards" from my window, but did not care to be out in any at the time.
In the following January I received information that I must go to the next town, ten miles west, on important business. If I remember correctly, it was the 27th day of the month—a cold, raw day, with shifting winds and strong indications of an approaching storm. Several days before the snow had fallen deep, and now the roads were impassable for man and beast. But I must go to Barnum Creek, although my friends advised me to the contrary. I knew I could not go by rail, as the railroad was blocked for thirty miles on each side on from Worthington to Sioux Falls. As I was not able to pay ten dollars for a team, I concluded, after I carefully considered the matter, to go on foot and take my chances. I said to myself that if it did storm it could not hurt me very much, as the distance was only ten miles. I did not leave home till late in the forenoon. My course was to follow the railroad track, which I did till I came to the "cuts," which I found packed hard with snow like sugar in a barrel—so hard that I could walk over them and make not the least impression.
Soon after I had started on my journey, prepared to battle with the elements, the snow began to fly thick and fast. The howling wind increased in velocity, but I felt no danger as long as I could see the telegraph poles, which showed me that I was still on the railroad track or near to it. It occurred to me several times after leaving home that I might possibly meet a blizzard on the way, and thus have my plans frustrated, but I hastened on, not caring to think of such a misfortune as befell Sam Johnson, the Vermonter.
As I pressed on, I found that the storm increased in severity, and the more I hastened, the more I found the elements to be against me. Indeed, the intense cold and the fierce blast took such a hold of me as I moved on against it that I soon felt exhausted. Nor had I gone very many miles on my journey before it dawned upon me that I was then experiencing a blizzard—a wild Minnesota blizzard, one of the worst in many years.
I ought to explain to my readers that the distinguishing peculiarity of a blizzard from a common snowstorm is that in a blizzard the fierce wind takes up the snow in mid air and converts it into small particles of frozen ice, all the way in size from a pin head to a kernel of rice. Then the storm dashes these minute particles of ice on the face of the traveler till it is made to sting. And those who are so unfortunate as to be out at such a time314are soon blinded, then exhausted, and finally compelled to succumb.
But what could I do at such a time? I was several miles from home, and not in sight of any habitation where I could seek a shelter. I carefully considered my condition, and came to the conclusion that my best hope was in pressing on against the blizzard, at the same time keeping my eye on the telegraph poles to guide me. And even this was a most difficult task. In a short time I found pressing against the fierce blast exceedingly hard work, so much so that soon I became completely exhausted. Walking on any further was out of the question. I stood for a moment with my back to the storm to rest; then I sank in the snow helpless. I found I could not go on any further, no matter what came. I felt the cold intensely. My teeth chattered and I shivered continuously. My mustache and eyebrows were covered with ice. My muffler became fastened to my mouth with ice tangles. I tried to separate the two but failed. My fingers were benumbed. My legs and arms began to stiffen. I never had experienced such a storm in all my life. The wind howled furiously around me, and the wild blast seemed to increase every moment. I did not know what to do. I was physically exhausted, and felt that I could not go on much further.
For a moment I felt that I was lost, and did not know what way to go or turn. The snow flew around me in clouds, so that I could not see an object an arm's length away. My chief hope all along had been, if I could only keep going on in my journey, with my eyes fixed on the telegraph poles, I would before long reach my destination in safety. But I could see no poles now, and the storm was increasing in wild intensity.
In this condition of body and mind I arose to my feet and tried to see if the storm had abated any, but I saw no change. The blizzard seemed to be at its worst. Then I sank exhausted a second time beside some brush only a few feet from the track. I tried to keep the cold out by wrapping my heavy ulster tightly around me, but I felt it had no more power to keep out the blast than a linen duster.
While in this condition, huddled on the ground, a peculiar sensation came over me. It was a soothing feeling, that craved for rest and perhaps sleep. I knew what such a feeling meant, and did not give way to it for a moment, nor did I even consider the matter a second time. How long I remained in this state I cannot tell. But I knew well enough that if I stayed much longer in that place I must succumb and die. Then it occurred to me that this would be a good time to pray. I was in great need, and nothing less than divine help could avail at that time. I cried silently and alone to God in my distress. My prayer was intense; it seemed to have taken hold of him, for I meant every word of what I said. In a moment I had relief. I felt encouraged and strengthened in my heart.
I arose to my feet. Something within said, "Go on!" I raised the cap that covered my head and eyes, that once more, if possible, I might get the "lay of the land." I saw a snow fence about thirty feet away, the first object I had seen in several hours. I looked again and saw a telegraph pole. Then I saw a rift in the clouds, as if the storm was trying hard to break away. Before I sank in the snow everything looked dark and dismal. But now the outward prospect was encouraging. I hastened on my journey, using the break in the clouds to the best advantage. I must have gone on about two miles to a place where the railroad crosses the highway. By this time the blizzard became as wild and furious as ever, but it ceased again for a moment; then I saw about a mile away to my right a farmhouse. It was getting dark, but I made for the house with all speed. Of
course I could not see the house, but I traveled in the direction of it, raising my head every little while and looking toward the house, then closing my eyes and lowering my face to save it from the pelting ice. I could see then that it stormed as furiously as ever, but my belief was strong that I would reach that settlement before night set in.
After some hard work I reached the farmhouse, completely exhausted. I was nearly frozen; my body was chilled through, and my legs were like lumps of lead. I told my experience to the inmates of the house, who were plain people from New York State. They knew all about the blizzards, as they had been several winters on the plains, and came near freezing to death several times. They told me after they had heard my story that my deliverance from death was miraculous. Nor shall I ever forget that chilling experience while I live, and Him who heard my prayer on the bleak prairie when I sank, ready to perish, in one of the worst blizzards that ever a human being encountered.—The Voice.
PRAYER AND POTATOES.
By Rev. J. T. Pettee
"If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit?" James 2:15, 16.
An old lady sat in her old armchair,
With wrinkled visage and disheveled hair,
And pale and hunger-worn features;
For days and for weeks her only fare,
As she sat there in her old armchair,
Had been potatoes.
But now they were gone; of bad or good
Not one was left for the old lady's food
Of those potatoes;
And she sighed and said, "What shall I do?
Where shall I send, and to whom shall I go
For more potatoes?"
And she thought of the deacon over the way,
The deacon so ready to worship and pray,
Whose cellar was full of potatoes,
And she said: "I'll send for the deacon to come;
He'll not mind much to give me some
Of such a store of potatoes."
And the deacon came over as fast as he could,
Thinking to do the old lady some good,
But never thought of potatoes;
He asked her at once what was her chief want,
And she, simple soul, expecting a grant,
Immediately answered, "Potatoes."
But the deacon's religion didn't lie that way;
He was more accustomed to preach and pray
Than to give of his hoarded potatoes;
So, not hearing, of course, what the old lady said,
He rose to pray with uncovered head,
But she only thought of potatoes.
He prayed for patience, and wisdom, and grace,
But when he prayed, "Lord, give her peace,"
She audibly sighed, "Give potatoes;"
And at the end of each prayer which he said,
He heard, or thought that he heard, in its stead
The same request for potatoes.
The deacon was troubled; knew not what to do;
'Twas very embarrassing to have her act so
About "those carnal potatoes."
So, ending his prayer, he started for home;
As the door closed behind him he heard a deep
groan,
"Oh, give to the hungry potatoes!"
And that groan followed him all the way home;
In the midst of the night it haunted his room—
"Oh, give to the hungry potatoes!"
He could hear it no longer; arose and dressed;
From his well-filled cellar taking in haste
A bag of his best potatoes,
Again he went to the widow's lone hut;
Her sleepless eyes she had not shut;
But there she sat in her old armchair,
With the same wan features, the same sad air,
And, entering in, he poured on the floor
A bushel or more from his goodly store
Of choicest potatoes.
The widow's cup was running o'er;
Her face was haggard and wan no more.
"Now," said the deacon, "shall we pray?"
"Yes," said the widow, "now you may."
And he kneeled him down on the sanded floor,
Where he had poured his goodly store,
And such a prayer the deacon prayed
As never before his lips essayed;
No longer embarrassed, but free and full,
He poured out the voice of a liberal soul,
And the widow responded a loud, "Amen!"
But spake no more of potatoes.
And would you who hear this simple tale,
Pray for the poor, and praying prevail?
Then preface your prayers with alms and good deeds;
Search out the poor, their wants and their needs;
Pray for peace and grace and spiritual food,
For wisdom and guidance—for all these are good—
But don't forget the potatoes.
—Rev. J. T. Pettee.
CONSUMPTION, OR TUBERCULOSIS.
It is said that there are every year in this country more than 100,000 deaths from tuberculosis alone. The disease is taken into the system principally in three ways: through the stomach, the lungs, and through an open wound. "It is taken through the stomach," says a tract issued by the Pennsylvania Society for the Prevention of Tuberculosis, "when people eat imperfectly cooked tubercular meat, drink milk from badly diseased tubercular cows, eat food out of the same dishes or with the same eating utensils as consumptives, eat food with unwashed hands after having been in contact with tubercular patients, eat food that has been handled by persons suffering from tuberculosis, put coins, articles of toilet, or other small objects that have been handled by persons suffering from tuberculosis, into the mouth, use musical instruments or implements which when in use are placed to the lips or in the mouth, and which have been used by consumptives, kiss upon the lips persons suffering from consumption, swallow tubercular pus in the form of dust which has accumulated in the throat or fauces during the act of respiration."
"It is taken into the system through the lungs when people inhale dried-up tubercular pus in the form of dust."
"It is taken into the system through wounds when people get tubercular pus into an open cut, or an abrasion of the skin."
To prevent consumption, J. H. Porteous, M.D., of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., distributes the following card among his patients:—
Remember that it is an infectious disease, communicated principally by the matter coughed up and spit out.
The patient should spit in a cup or wide-mouthed bottle, containing a little carbolic acid and water, and frequently washed with hot water. Use carbolic acid and water in commode. Never spit on the street, or floor of house or cars.
Sleep alone, and, if possible, in an airy and sunny room. Have separate bed and table linen; these should be boiled before washing. Use individual table utensils, washed separately.
Wash the mouth twice, daily, with soda and water. Do not kiss anyone.
Those who are well should remember that it is an infectious disease, communicated principally by swallowing the germs, by inhaling them, or having them introduced through a wound. Therefore, do not buy or use food that has been handled by a consumptive.
Do not share the food or drink of a consumptive.
Do not sleep with a consumptive.
Do not put coins or small articles in your mouth that may have been handled by a consumptive.
Do not kiss anyone on the lips if they have a cough.
Do not take food without first washing your hands.
To which we may add that the sputa, or expectorations, of consumptive patients should be burned, and these patients, many of whom are not feeble, should be interested in carrying out these instructions for others' sake. Another point of overwhelming importance in the prevention and cure of consumption is to keep the system well nourished. It is almost impossible for a well-nourished individual to succumb to the dread disease. The success of consumption lies in attacking individuals in a "run-down" condition.
A DRUNKARD'S APPEAL.
THE liquor business of necessity blunts the finer sensibilities of the man who engages in it. His heart becomes adamant. His conscience is hardened. His soul becomes imbruted. But occasionally the sting of remorse arouses him to a proper view of the awful situation in which he has placed himself.
A young man entered the barroom of the village tavern and called for a drink.
"No," said the landlord; "you have had the delirium tremens once, and I can't sell you any more."
He stepped aside to make room for a couple of young men who had just entered, and the landlord waited on them very politely. The other had stood by, silent and sullen, and when they had finished he walked up to the landlord and thus addressed him:—
"Six years ago, at their age, I stood where those two young men now are. I was a young man of fair prospects. Now, at the age of twenty-eight, I am a wreck—body and mind. You led me to drink. In this room I formed the habit that has been my ruin. Now sell me a few more glasses and your work will be done. I shall soon be out of the way; there is no hope for me. But they can be saved. Do not sell it to them. Sell it to me and let me die, and the world will be rid of me; but for heaven's sake sell no more to them."
The landlord listened, pale and trembling. Setting down his decanter, he exclaimed, "God help me, it is the last drop I will sell to anyone!" And he kept his word.—Zion's Watchman.
THE USEFUL DOG.
ONE of the United States consuls in Belgium in his report comments upon the fact that in that country no dog is allowed to be idle, being as regularly used for beasts of draft as horses are here. It is estimated in Belgium that ten dogs will accomplish as much work as one horse, and they are even more powerful than the horse in proportion to their weight, as they compute the load for the average horse at four times his weight, and for the single dog or pair of dogs at six times his or their weight. It is estimated that the dogs in the United States ought to earn for the country at least $150,000,000 annually, and to do so would be greatly to their advantage, as their viciousness would disappear, and the danger from rabies be greatly lessened. Hitch them up.—Selected.
ALCOHOL AND BRAIN WORK.
It is a general impression that alcohol produces temporary ability for increased activity. Dr. Lauder Brunton asserts that "the influence of alcohol upon psychical processes is curious, for while it renders them much slower, the individual under its influence believes them to be much quicker than usual." The same fact is true of all stimulants. They give the individual the impression of greater vigor and strength, but this is simply a deception. Truly "wine is a mocker."—Annals of Hygiene.
ON FOR THIBET.
THE quality of courage and persistency has incessant illustration among missionaries. They have desire to push on to larger conquests. The bolder the enterprise, the more ardent the impulse that seizes them to pursue it. We have heard of that little company of Moravians, who now for some years have planted their station on the high Himalaya ascents, as close as possible to the forbidden land of Thibet, hoping that soon the way will be open to pass the border.
The same passion has taken possession of an English woman who bears the name of Taylor. Has that surname some charm of adventure in it? A few years ago she also volunteered to get as near to Thibet as she could on the side of the British occupation, and wait her opportunity to penetrate the interior. She learned the language, and, what was perhaps more fortunate, she gained a devoted Thibetan servant. After a time she concluded it would be more possible to reach Lassa by way of China. So she organized her little force, and proceeded around by Shanghai toward the Chinese border.
The story of her adventures will soon appear in a volume from her own hand. It is of as great interest as any that can be found in the most thrilling stories of modern travel. It is a marvel that she lives to relate it, for that country has guarded itself from the entrance of the foreigner with zealous solicitude, and against the most importunate endeavor. The approaches are inhospitable, both on account of lack of good roads and of climate, more inhospitable by being beset by brigands. It is astonishing that this woman should, nevertheless, have succeeded in getting within three days' journey of Lassa, and then have only turned back by being met by an officer from the city, telling her that, though she might escape death if she went on, he would not, but would certainly pay for his failure to prevent her by his life. So, rather than expose the life of another, she turned back, after running the gauntlet of many dangers. She returned, after refreshing her energies by a visit to her English friends. She is now about ready to renew her quest.
The present plan is to secure twelve souls pledged to watch the opportunity of entering Thibet, and to be quick to move in upon that land the moment the divine Hand shall open the way.—Pacific.
THE TERM "HEATHEN."
A MISSIONARY in Japan protests vigorously to the Missionary Herald against the use of the term "heathen" as applied to the non-Christian peoples of Asia, and appears to make out his case. This is his language:—
"The Japanese are very sensitive over this word. It seems to them an offensive and rude term, a word of inferiority, or even of contempt. It was from our English Bible, doubtless, that it came so widely in use. Yes, but go to the Revised Version, and not one single passage can be found with this word in it. Christ and his disciples never used it. They spoke of nations with respect and hope, never of heathen, pagans, outsiders. The revised Old Testament, too, has largely done the same. Our new Bible is pretty well cleared up, so far as the word 'heathen' is concerned. The worst people in our so-called Christian civilization use this word most freely. Gamblers, hard drinkers, pharisaical moralists, and low politicians cannot ring changes enough on it. 'The heathen Chinese,' 'the heathen Jap,' are the words of human beings who never had a noble thought toward the people of another nation, nor a spark of true patriotism. So that I would raise the question: Isn't it time that we missionaries part company with those who roll the word 'heathen' under their tongues as a sweet morsel of contempt? Shall we Christians at home or in mission fields be courteous in preaching the gladdest tidings on earth, or not?"—Selected.
THIBET FOR JESUS.
By W. W. Simpson
BY W. W. SIMPSON.
THERE'S a lost and dying nation dwelling on a great plateau
That is circled round by mountains capped with snow;
And the souls that Jesus purchased by his own dear, precious blood,
They are sinking to the dark abyss of woe.
O my brother, won't you hear Jesus calling you to go?
Take the gospel of salvation, free to all;
"Nothing is too hard for Jesus," hear his word of promise say,
And the walls of this Jericho shall fall.
It is Satan's final stronghold, but, no matter how he fights,
We've the victory already in his word.
Our Redeemer fights the battles, and we're standing by his side,
While we see the great salvation of our Lord.
Our great Captain gives us power over all the hosts of hell,
And to tread the dragon's power 'neath our feet.
There is nothing that can hurt us; in the secret place we dwell,
Till our Saviour at his coming we shall meet.
—Missionary Weekly.
NEW ZEALAND AND CHRISTIANITY.
IT was in 1808 that the first evangelical effort was made to reach the Maoris of New Zealand. In that year Samuel Marsden, chaplain to the convict settlement at Paramatta, in New South Wales, visited England, and persuaded the C. M. S. Committee to send out two or three lay missionaries under his charge. He had himself never visited the islands, but had seen some Maoris on the mainland of Australia.
He sailed back to his convicts in 1809, with the lay agents. But, arrived in Sydney, he could get them no further for more than four years. No ship could be induced to go to New Zealand, for terror of the Maori cannibals, who had killed and eaten the crew of the shipwrecked Boyd.
At last, in 1814, Mr. Marsden bought a small ship, managed to collect a crew, and sailed for the dreaded shores. At the close of the year he settled his band of lay missionaries near the north end of North Island. About 1837 the influence of Christianity had so far civilized the natives that the country was safe for settlers, and English colonists came pouring in.
Seven times did the zealous chaplain of Paramatta take the voyage to New Zealand to see the mission, not in a handsome, well-appointed steamer of the present day, but a small sailing vessel. In 1836 he made his last voyage, and found that large numbers of the Maoris had been baptized.
The first bishop of the islands was consecrated in 1841, in the person of the great Bishop Selwyn. He was the first and only one of the title, for the country was afterward divided into six dioceses, three in the North Island, Auckland, Waiapu, and Wellington, and three in the Middle Island, Nelson, Christchurch, and Dunedin.
Unfortunately, the advance of civilization always means the decline of native, savage, or semi-savage races. New Zealand has now a population of 600,000, while the Maori race has dwindled to about 38,000. Of these about 28,000 are Christian, and the rest semi-heathen. These semi-heathen are descendants partly of those who never embraced Christianity, and partly of those who apostatized at the time of the bitter wars between the English settlers and the natives about land. Most of them are adherents of disaffected chiefs, like Te Whiti and Te Kooti, but some of them have lately joined the Mormons. They mostly live on their own lands in the heart of the North Island.—Gospel in All Lands.
MISSIONS THE WORLD OVER.
A VERY comprehensive survey of mission work during 1893 has been prepared, and ought to prove of immense value to many. The report is too lengthy to give in full, but the main facts and figures follow in a comparative table, giving the strength of the denominations in the United States, and their contributions to home and foreign missions.
Member-ship.
Cont. Home M's. 1891.
Cont. For. Miss. 1892.
Congregational
491,985
$1,655,507
$840,804
Presbyterian (North)
753,749
1,137,205
931,292
Presbyterian (South)
161,742
74,003
130,276
Reformed (Dutch)
88,812
66,120
112,163
United Presbyterian
101,858
111,614
114,636
Cumberland Presbyterian
160,185
27,216
20,430
Reformed (German)
194,044
45,000
20,000
Baptists (North)
780,000
633,267
569,172
Baptists (South)
1,100,000
214,334
114,325
Free Baptists
86,297
13,073
28,173
Seventh day Baptists
9,100
4,857
6,000
Meth. Episcopal (North)
2,236,463
573,750
725,367
Meth. Episcopal (South)
1,161,666
245,836
304,917
Meth. Protestant
147,604
11,842
---
We-leyan Methodist
18,000
20,000
3,000
Protestant Episcopal
470,076
657,018
275,000
Evangelical Association
145,703
183,330
15,647
United Brethren
199,703
38,653
25,000
Moravian
11,858
15,594
16,950
Lutheran
1,188,876
268,358
55,676
Disciples
750,000
216,279
70,320
Miscellaneous
1,632,500
764,664
603,768
Grand total (U. S.)
11,889,427
$6,717,558
$1,983,516
The amount given by Seventh-day Adventists for foreign missions in 1892 was $66,094.56, or about $2.00 per member. In 1893 it was greatly in excess of that, but the exact figures we have not at hand.