Madge was a generous, warm-hearted girl who would have sacrificed her own beloved art for her friend; for, while she worshiped at the shrine of art, her beauty-loving soul bowed in silent homage before the beautiful soul of her friend. She, had she tried to express this in words, would have said: “I love her, because she is beautiful, and the reason Marguerite is beautiful is because she is pure and good.”
Ah! could the most perfect beauty in the land receive a higher tribute from her friend?
While many dear girls are wasting precious hours in adorning their persons, spending money for so-called “beautifiers,” ever searching for the “secret of beauty,” and oftentimes vainly repining because of their lack of it; would that they could remember that, while it is said that “beauty fades,” still there is an unfading beauty that grows more beautiful day by day as the life reflects the Christ-life, and the soul grows braver, stronger, and truer, until the face reflects the glory of it; and those who look thereon say, as would Madge of her friend, “She is beautiful because she is pure and good.”
Nothing more was said of the subject of which they were both thinking until the next morning while they were preparing their breakfast, when Madge asked, in what she tried to make a cheerful tone, “When do you intend to go, Marguerite?”
Marguerite had turned quickly, and seen the tears in Madge’s eyes, and she spoke very gently, “It is so kind of you, dear, not to beg or persuade me. You think I am right, don’t you, now? I do so wish to feel that you think so. It’s hard for me to do anything without your encouragement, Madge, for I am so accustomed to depend upon you for commendation. It has meant a great deal to me, during the time we have been together.”
Madge set her teeth firmly together, as she did when determined not to alter an opinion, and slowly shook her head, “I can not think you are right, somehow, but I think you are the best girl in the world, and I love you a thousand times better because of your determination to do what you think is right,” was her reply at last.
“But you did not say when you were going, Marguerite?” She spoke almost fiercely now.
“I shall go on the early train Monday morning, and shall reach home that evening. I must write to them to-day. How surprised they will be!”
Madge uttered a short exclamation of dismay, and began bustling about the room as if she had been discovered wasting time, which must be atoned for by undue haste. She set the dishes upon the table with such a clatter that Marguerite turned to look at her with quiet amazement, but wisely made no comment.
About 9 o’clock Madge went to the studio as usual, and Marguerite sat down at the piano to practise.
As Madge slowly descended the stairs she wondered, as she had so many times before, how Marguerite could find the practice of scales so fascinating. She usually hurried away to her work, but now she lingered, both to hear the last of the scales and Marguerite’s voice counting “One, two, three, one,11two, three.” When she reached the street, and could no longer hear the familiar sounds, she was conscious of a choking sensation, and vainly tried to choke down the lump which would rise in her throat as she thought of the coming days when she would listen in vain for the well-known sounds.
Marguerite practised her music that morning, and in the afternoon took her lesson. As she walked homeward she looked about the familiar streets with new interest. She was thinking of her return to the quiet country home, away from the noise and bustle of the city.
Could she go back, take up her life as before, and be content? She thought of her teacher’s words when she had told him of her intentions. When he found that all his persuasions and resistance was in vain, he had said, “Ah, Miss Anderson, you will never be happy again if you give up music. You might have been content before you discovered your talent, and realized how great was your love for music; but you will never be satisfied now. Never!”
She vaguely thought that perhaps this was true, and then was ashamed of the thought.
When Madge came home that evening, Marguerite was singing. Marguerite was often singing when Madge came home, but it seemed to Madge that she had never sung so sweetly before. The tones were as clear and sweet, but now they seemed full of the triumphant joy of one who has conquered; and the listener’s mind came the thought of him who conquers his own spirit, and is better than he who taketh a city.
She tried to open the door noiselessly, but failed, and Marguerite turned to meet her with a bright smile, taking from her the parcels she carried, as she said, “There, you poor child, you are so tired, I know. Now lie down and rest while I prepare something for you to eat.”
“No, I am not hungry, Marguerite, and I wish to sit here by the window, and hear you finish your song.” And she seated herself in a large chair by the window.
“Very well; your obedient servant,” said Marguerite with a laugh, as she gave a low courtesy, and again seated herself at the piano. But she did not sing, for just then her companion cried out, “O Marguerite, how can I let you go? Have you not a thought for me whom you leave behind? Don’t look at me like that! I can’t bear it!” For there was reproach and surprise, as well as tenderness and love, in the look with which Marguerite was regarding her.
“It was you who drove away the gloom, and let the sunshine in upon my life, by teaching me to love not only the beautiful, but the Creator of beauty. You have done so much for me, Marguerite. Now my life will be lonely again, as it was before you came.” Here poor Madge burst into a passion of tears.
Marguerite was by her side in an instant, saying, while she wiped away the tears, and kissed the flushed face, “No, no, Madge, for you will feel that you have my love, tho you may not see my face. I shall write long letters often, and you shall visit us during your vacation. O, my Madge, your life can not be altogether lonely, for there is One who will keep you from being lonely now, you know.”
Poor Madge, her early life had been lonely indeed, for her mother, a gentle, warm-hearted little woman, who had lavished a wealth of affection upon her little daughter, died long ago; and her father, a reserved, dignified man, then became stern and silent, and appeared to give little thought to the lonely little girl who longed with an intense longing for love and sympathy.
Her father’s elder sister, who came to live with them, was a cold, practical woman, who cared little for beauty, and had little sympathy with her niece. She at once banished Madge’s pets as “nuisances,” thereby inflicting many a heartache upon Madge; the flowers, which the little girl tenderly carried in from the meadow or wood, were said to be “littering,” and thrown away; and her books were carefully locked away in the old bookcase.
Madge’s father and aunt would not be annoyed by young people, so she had no young companions, and since her father’s time and thoughts were given to his business, and his sister’s to household economy, Madge was much alone, and spent her time wandering about the wood, or with pencil and paper up in the attic, trying to depict the things she saw in her rambles.
She was much alone, and grew to feel that there was no hope for love and companionship in her home, and there had been great danger of the loving, joyous little girl growing up into a morose, cold-hearted woman. But that was before she knew Marguerite. Marguerite’s love and sympathy had come like a sunbeam into her life, and under its cheering influence she had gradually become the cheerful, warm-hearted girl which she was by nature.
Now the thought of a separation from her comes like a dark cloud shutting out the light and cheer.
Monday morning dawned bright and clear, but to Madge it seemed that the bright sunshine and blue sky were but mocking her, and that it should have been a dreary, cloudy day, in accord with her feelings.
She kept up a forced gaiety on the way to the depot, while Marguerite was silent and thoughtful.
When the train was announced, and good-by must be said, Marguerite said, as she held Madge’s hand in both her own, “May the Lord watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another. Don’t forget that I love you, and that your very best Friend is ever with you, and that He will never leave you nor forsake you. Good-by, Madge.”
“Good-by, Marguerite. Do come back to me soon!” and the girl walked rapidly back to her lonely rooms, there to struggle on toward the far-away heights of her ambition.
Would Marguerite regret her choice? That question came to her often during the long day’s journey. When she thought of her hopes and plans for the future, it did seem hard to see them fading away, and she wondered if she could endure the dreary monotony of the valley again.
Those beautiful heights which she had been looking toward, and which had each day grown more majestic and grand as she journeyed slowly nearer, were now fading away into the mist as she retraced her steps.
But, as she turned her face toward the valley, the dear familiar faces were smiling at her, and such a bright smile illumined her face that the old lady across the aisle wondered how young people could find so much to smile about, and her thoughts wandered back through the years to the time when she had been a happy, smiling girl herself.
Dear young friends, perhaps you will stand some day, as did Marguerite, and see your plans fail, and your air-castles totter and fall about you. If so, may you stand, with a smile on your face, as firmly and bravely as did she among the ruins, and begin to build, slowly and patiently, a more substantial edifice, which shall endure throughout eternity, and of which it may be said at last, “And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house, and it fell not; for it was founded upon a rock.”
Marguerite aroused herself from her reveries as she heard “Valley View” announced as the next station. She peered eagerly through the window, but the gathering darkness shut out the familiar scene, and she gathered her wraps about her, and waited somewhat impatiently, wondering if they had received her letter in time to meet her, and if they had been surprised.
How fast her heart was beating! What a long time she had been away!
The train slackened its speed, and, at last, after what seemed to her a long time, stopped, and she hurried out, eagerly looking for father. Yes, there he was, with such a look of longing expectation upon his care-worn face that she found herself wondering how she could have stayed away so long.
She was in his arms in an instant, laughing and crying at the same time, while her father only said, “Well, well, Marguerite; I declare!” They were soon on their way, Marguerite talking so rapidly that she did not give him time to reply to the many questions she asked. But he seemed quite well content to listen to the clear young voice again.
When they reached home, Mrs. Anderson was standing at the gate, where she had stood when Marguerite went away.
She was a slight woman, with a delicate, refined face. The shapely head, so like Marguerite’s own, was crowned with silver hair, and as the light shone through the open doorway, and fell upon the gentle face, all thought of sacrifice was forgotten, while Marguerite thought, “that sight alone were well worth the return.”
Neither Marguerite nor her father had spoken a word, and an expression of great disappointment passed over Mrs. Anderson’s face. Then a sad, sweet voice, which somehow always caused the hearer to think of distant music, asked, “Father, where is our daughter?” “Here, mother,” said a cheery voice, and Marguerite sprang to the ground, and clasped her mother in her strong, young arms, holding her very close for a moment without speaking.
“Let us go to Earnest. He has fairly counted the hours until he should see you,” said her mother, leading the way to the house. At the porch she paused, and laid a detaining hand on Marguerite, saying in a low tone, “Daughter, you will find Earnest much changed, but I know you will be brave. Do not appear to notice any change. Your coming will do much to help him. God bless you, child, for coming.” And then they passed into the cozy sitting-room.
Could it be possible that that was her strong, merry-hearted brother? Marguerite breathed very hard for a moment, and then caught her breath with a gasp, but her mother’s words, “I know you will be brave,” echoed in her ears, and she recovered her composure, and went to his side.
What an evening that was for them all! You who know what it is to return home after a long absence need not that I should tell you of that evening.
(Continued next week.)
CONVERSATION IN THE HOME.
By L. D. Avery-Stuttle
BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.
“Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” No truer saying was ever penned than this. If one's ambitions and aspirations are altogether worldly, his conversation will be wholly of the earth, earthy. If his treasure is above, his heart will be in the same place; and if his heart and treasure are both above, his conversation will not be along the lines of gossip, greed, or selfishness.
“Now,” says one, “you don't intend to lay down a rule to govern the very conversation of our homes, do you?”
Certainly not; such a thing would be quite impracticable; for I tell you, the home conversation of any household will be governed to a great extent by the business, ambitions, and aspirations of its individual members.
Brother Smith is a merchant. Every day at the dinner table, he and Harry, the oldest son, converse glibly about the business of the day—about trade, its possibilities and advantages, its gains and its losses. Sister Brown is a dressmaker. She considers it a part of her trade to be well posted about the latest fashions. Mary and Jimmie go to school; of course their marks of merit and demerit, what they have learned about this country or that, what problems they have demonstrated or what rules learned, come in for a goodly share of conversation.
And all this is well, our God is not only a God of love, but He is reasonable. How do I know?—because He says: “Come now, and let us reason together;” and He has also said, “Be not slothful in business.” Now, of course he knows that we must talk concerning the business we are about. He only asks that while we do this, we be not too busy to give him a thought of gratitude, and to speak a word for Him whenever we have an opportunity. While we are busy with earthly cares, we can allow our thoughts to ascend to Him, and we can oftener converse about the heavenly reward. If we were expecting a great legacy, how often would we speak about it? How often would we discuss the probability of its coming? Think you that weeks and months would go by, with no mention of it at all? We would be deciding at once what we would do with our wealth,—what a fine mansion we would build, and what elegant furniture we would buy. Mary should have the piano she has so longed for, and Harry the fine horse. We would not need to be urged to talk about it—O, no.
But we say that we are all heirs of an “inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away.” We shall soon claim our inheritance—a mansion of delight in a city whose very streets are gold paved, whose walls are jasper, and whose gates are solid pearls.
Would it not be well for us to do a little more talking about our inheritance? Do you wonder how long it will be before we shall claim our treasure?—Study the sure Word of prophecy; that will tell us, and tell us plainly that we need not wait much longer. Would we like to know how those mansions of gold will appear to our waiting eyes, and how the music of heaven will sound to our enraptured senses? Ah, the Master knew we would dwell upon that, He wants us to do it; but He answers all our theories with the assurance that “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.”
We have all heard the story of the poor servant girl, ignorant and unlettered, perhaps, in the eyes of the world, but precious in the sight of Him to whom the wisdom of this world is accounted foolishness. Being asked how she explained the text, “Pray without ceasing,” she replied:—
“Why, when I sweep the house, I pray that God may sweep everything evil out of my heart. When I polish the silver, I pray that God will polish and refine my heart, until it will reflect His image. When I wash the clothes, I pray Him to wash me that I may be whiter than snow.”
In the same way we may direct our conversation. Father comes home from the office anxious and worried. Business has gone wrong. He is quite undecided which of half a dozen ways is the wisest. Of course he mentions all this to his family—or ought to.
“Seems to me,” says little Susie, “there's a pretty good verse for you, papa, I learned it in my Sabbath lesson.”
“Well, my dear, what is the verse?”
“If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”
“Why, mother,” interrupts Annie, the oldest daughter, “do you believe that verse means that we are to ask God to show us how to do just the every-day affairs of life?”
“Suppose we ask Susie what she thinks about it,” suggests papa.
“I don't know anything about it, papa,” replies Susie, “only that the Bible says so,—and,—why; you believe the Bible don't you?”
O the simple, blessed faith of childhood!
Then, it is well often to review the events of the day. It helps the children wonderfully to feel that mother and father sympathize with them in all their little cares and worries and ambitions. It is well to question them,—draw them out. Let them know from blessed experience, that there is no one who really cares about them so much as you do. Let Jimmie tell all he can remember about his lessons to-day. The review will strengthen his memory and be edifying to the others. To-morrow at dinner, ask Mary to do the same. After awhile they will learn that this is expected of them, and will prepare for it.
When a good book is read by any member of the family—and of course no other will be read—let the reader give a synopsis of the chapters he reads daily, and the family may discuss the same at pleasure. If this custom were but faithfully observed, it would not only strengthen the memory, but it would positively insure the complete banishment of dubious books.
The Bible has a great deal to say about conversation,—for it is by our words that we are to be justified or condemned. O what an array of sinful words and foolish words and hasty and unkind words and impure words the books of record of the fast-hastening day of judgment will reveal! What a solemn thought that many in that day will fail of entering into life eternal, just because of a neglect to guard that little member—the tongue. Well has the apostle likened it to “a fire, a world of iniquity.”
Among latter-day evils there is nothing more to be deplored than the habit of sandwiching the conversation with slang. It is not only foolish, useless, and silly, but it is disgusting to people of taste and refinement, and sinful in the sight of Him who hath said: “Let your yea be yea; and your nay, nay; lest ye fall into condemnation.”
In conclusion: Let our conversation both at home and abroad be “without covetousness,” without evil speaking, without idle words, without foolish words, without slang phrases; but let our conversation be uplifting, clean, pure, godly,—and may we ever remember the words of the inspired psalmist: “Whoso offereth praise glorifieth Me; and to him that ordereth his conversation aright will I show the salvation of God.”
FOR LACK OF BROTHERHOOD.
By Joaquin Miller
God pity us all as we jostle each other;
God pardon us all for the triumphs we feel
When a fellow goes down 'neath his load on the heather,
Pierced to the heart; words are keener than steel,
And mightier far for wo or for weal.
Were it not well in this brief little journey
On over the isthmus, down into the tide,
We give him a fish instead of a serpent;
Ere folding the hands to be and abide
Forever and aye in dust at his side?
Is it worth while that we battle to humble
Some poor fellow-soldier down into the dust?
God pity us all! Time oft soon will tumble
All of us together like leaves in a gust,
Humbled indeed down into the dust.
—Joaquin Miller.
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EN ROUTE TO CHINA—A GLIMPSE OF JAPAN.
By H. W. Miller
BY H. W. MILLER, M. D.
THE morning was beautiful. The first thing that attracted our attention was the presence of Mount Fujiyama, the tallest mountain in Japan, standing out boldly far above everything else. It is snow-capped, and this is very rare in such a warm climate. It is 23,950 feet above sea-level, and about twenty miles from the shore. We could see it sixty miles away. A native will take you to the top in five hours, descending in one hour. There are twenty active volcanoes in Japan, and about eighty mountains that have been volcanoes. Earthquakes are very common in this section of the country.
We were not out of sight of land all day. We arrived at the quarantine station at Kobe, and were inspected for disease, before our boat could go up into the harbor. We then anchored about one mile from the harbor, as the water is too shallow for our large steamer to go nearer. Dr. Lockwood came out to meet us, and found our company waiting anxiously for him. This was the stopping-place of Mr. and Mrs. Reese, who had come from Oregon with us to join Doctor and Mrs. Lockwood in their work at Kobe. Going ashore, we passed our empty grips before the customs, having taken them to carry some provisions back to the ship, as so much flesh food is served aboard the vessel.
Doctor Lockwood hired several jinrikishas to take us to the sanitarium. Here the stores looked better than those in Yokohama, and articles of all kinds were much cheaper. The Japs paced right along until we came to the bottom of a hill, where we had to get off or pay extra to be drawn up. They drew the ladies up the hill, and we walked. It was too dark to get a good view of the sanitarium. It is a two-story building above the basement, thirty by sixty feet; has two verandas in front, extending the whole length of the building, one on the first floor, and one on the second. The inside is very artistic. It is finished in Japanese style, and has American furniture. The first floor is occupied by the office, waiting-room, dining-room, kitchen, and storeroom. The second floor has four rooms for patients. These rooms are large and well-furnished. The bath and massage rooms are also on this floor. The sanitarium is located at the foot of the mountains, and in the city. Kobe has a population of 300,000.
The great Japanese battle-ship Fuji, the largest war-vessel of that country. To be an officer on such a vessel is the highest aspiration of the Japanese navy boys.
When we returned to our boat, we found that the passenger ladder had been lifted, and that they were about to leave. We became a little excited, and had to climb over the freight cargoes, and go up on the freight ladder, but were soon on deck, safe. We understood that the boat was to leave at 3 A. M., but it was billed to leave at 1 A. M., and drew out within twenty minutes after we got aboard.
We awoke the next morning about six o’clock. Looking out, we saw mountains on both sides of us. These did not have that rough contour of the mountains in America, but the land was cultivated. It was divided in terraced plots. These were covered with green vegetation. The plots vary in size, from a quarter of an acre to an acre and a half.
The crops are cultivated and cared for by hand. Some are in blossom, while others are ready for harvest. Here no land is wasted. A great deal of labor is placed upon it, and no weeds are allowed to grow.
If you could imagine a mountain covered with from seventy-five to one hundred flower beds similar to those you see in the parks, you could not do justice to the scenery that we have witnessed for miles along the coast. Every little while we see a lighthouse, as white as snow, on some prominent point, and little villages of a dozen to thirty houses, built on the rustic order. A railroad ran near the water’s edge. It was similar to an American railroad, and the trains ran with about the same speed. There were several cement factories along the coast.
The Japanese have some of the best fortresses in the world. They have guns forty feet long, with a bore of ten inches, and weighing one hundred and ten tons, located at strategic points in their straits.
All day we have met an immense number of fishing boats. At one point we counted one hundred and twenty-five of these sailboats. Some of them are rather large, and are on the rustic order, the same as the old style of houses. But the government is anxious to become modern as fast as she can; so will not permit any more of these to be made, but requires modern ones. Modern homes are also being built, and every native is anxious to learn the English language. In fact, things are changing very fast in Japan, and in many respects it appears as a modern country.
Our vessel had to pass through the narrows this evening before dark, or she could not have gone through. It is a narrow strait where the tides meet between two islands. It is called Shimonoseki Strait. Here on each side are the strongest fortresses on the coast. The ground is all undermined, and the guns are hidden from sight. It was at this point that Li Hung Chang was stabbed during the late war with China.
At Nagasaki, Japan, we took a launch and went to the post-office, then made a bargain with the Japs to take us to their famous temple. They asked fifty cents, but finally accepted thirty. On the way we had opportunity to see more Japanese stores and many new things. Nails, pins, and tacks are sold by count, and eggs by weight. There were very few saloons. There were numerous peddlers on the street, who carried their goods on their shoulders to a large pole with a pail attached at each end. The fish markets are the largest meat markets, and the fish vary in size from minnows to those six feet long.
The minnows are dried and sold by weight. There were all kinds of crabs, and another fish they called the octagon, which looked like a dragon fish.
Here we got our English money changed into Japanese. As we did not have any friends in this place, we had to buy our own goods. They charged fifteen cents on the dollar for exchanging English money, and five cents for United States money, and there is more of the latter used in this country. At a vegetable store we bought some pomegranates and radishes. In Nagasaki we noticed blacksmiths using American tools for making boats; and in a tin-shop about the only tools for making cans were a hammer, soldering iron, and anvil.
Reaching the temple, we had to climb two hundred stone steps, as it was on the side of a mountain. In the court which led to the entrance were several Japanese documents written on boards, containing the history of some of their gods. On each side were Japanese scrolls. In this court was a stone trough containing dirty water, from which all the people drank, and around which hung their prayers written on flags. These were about one hundred13feet, and of many colors. We saw a woman take her child, and place one of these flags over its head, and then walk away again. General Grant visited this temple in his trip around the world. The shrine had a small red flag and a large white one in front. These were gods, and the white one was the god of sorrow. We took off our shoes and walked up to the door, but could go no farther. There was an altar with several candles upon it, and a screen behind which no one but the priests could go.
From this point we could look down upon the city. The view was a pretty one, as the city lies in a valley, and there are mountains on the other side covered with terraces.
We reached the boat at 3 P. M., and watched them loading coal. Ladders were fastened from the boat down to the coal barges, and men, women, and children passed the coal from hand to hand in rapid succession, with baskets holding about two scoop shovels full. They loaded fourteen hundred tons in three hours. It is a wonderful sight to see them do so much by hand. We left the harbor an hour later. We passed the rock from which the first missionaries to Japan—twenty in number—were thrown off and murdered. It is surrounded by water, and stands one hundred feet high. We soon came out of sight of land, and were on our way to Shanghai.
PREACH ME THE DEAR OLD GOSPEL.
By Florence L. Burpee
[Florence L. Burpee, in World's Crisis.]
Preach me the dear old Gospel,
When you fear I am wandering away,
For the world is full of allurements,
And even the strongest may stray.
I am weak and sinful ever,
But the tempter I do not fear,
When you tell of One who was tempted,
Of the Friend who is ever near.
Preach me the whole of the Gospel;
When God bids you “spare not,” cry out;
Many wolves have entered the sheep-fold
In this age of freedom and doubt.
The church oft walks with the worldly,
Forsaking the narrow way,
Then preach us the whole of the Gospel,
And charge all to watch and pray.
Preach me the dear old Gospel,
In words that are simple and plain;
I care not for the creed of the preacher,
His age, his dress, or his name,
If he follows and preaches the Master;
For the hour is getting late,
And many a creed has entered
Through the same little wicket-gate.
I have listened to eloquent sermons
By men who were learned and tried,
Who understand Greek and Hebrew,
And have traveled far and wide;
But the Saviour they did not mention,
And I longed to tell them then,
That only the same old Gospel
Would now reach the hearts of men.
Preach me the dear old Gospel,
For the time will not be long
Between sowing the seed with weeping
And the glad, sweet harvest song.
Yes, preach me the dear old Gospel,
That same sweet story of old;
Of Jesus who loves and guides me
To that city with gates of gold.
South Framingham, Mass.
A BIT OF MISSIONARY EXPERIENCE IN FIJI.
[From a Mission Board Circular.]
FROM a private letter from Brother C. H. Parker, we take the liberty to cull a few sentences, describing one of his recent trips, which show some of the experiences of our missionaries. He says: “As there was no boat that I could get, I took Joe as my guide, and we walked. I never before had such a walk.” They say it is eighty miles. We made it in less than two days. We took no time to rest by the way, but from daybreak until dark kept going. The path was nothing but mud and water. Then we had streams to wade or swim. My feet were sopping wet all the time, and nothing but a mass of blisters and raw places. The last half-day my muscles were so sore that I could hardly lift my feet. It was eleven o’clock at night when we reached Kavula. O the climb of that last mountain! It seemed that I could not do it. My clothes were wet from the pouring rain that had been falling most of the day.”
Speaking of the service the next day, Brother Parker says, “It was a good meeting. The hush of the Holy Spirit could be heard. One young man took his stand for the truth.” At another meeting in another town a large attendance was secured, both Wesleyans and Catholics being present. He spoke on the law and the Gospel. “The next day,” he says, “Ratu Mele and two mission boys sailed me down to see Roko Tui Ra. I had a profitable visit. I am astonished at his wonderful insight into the principle of separation of church and state. He is fair, and I believe not far from the kingdom. On our voyage back we got into such a storm of wind, rain, and waves, that if God had not especially intervened, I would not be here to write you this. The boat was nearly swamped several times. The jib was all the sail we could carry. We went ashore for the night, where the natives asked me to preach, which I did. They were deeply interested, and acknowledged that we had the truth. The next morning we started again, and after battling for two hours with wind and waves, we reached Namarai. A wave followed us, roaring like a lion. It seemed that it would rush in and fill our boat, but God was round about us, and thwarted Satan’s designs. After some counsel with the brethren at this place, we boarded a three-ton, undecked cutter for Suva. We had no wind on starting, but soon there was more than we wanted. A squall struck us, and before they could get the sails in, the jib was carried away, the mainsail badly torn, and the boat partly filled with water. I thought my chance for life was hopeless while the fury of the wind raged. I sent up a silent prayer to God for help, and, bless His holy name, He did not fail me. Praise God, the work is advancing all along the line!”
