THINGS had come to a crisis at the Bennett's. Not that it was anything very new for things to come to a crisis, but it wasn't any easier on that account. Mamma Bennett was sick again, and lay on the bed, with a very pale, anxious face, and Effie had actually caught her crying. Deary me! It was just dreadful to have one's mother cry. It meant that a crisis had come, sure enough.
And then their breakfast had been just mush, "seasoned with salt," like the speech of the Colossians, no butter or molasses to make their breakfast table interesting and attractive to a forlorn little girl.
Effie sat swinging her foot off the low steps, and thinking and thinking what a disagreeable thing it was to have a mother that would get sick, and a father that would go off and stay away long, long whiles, and then would come home very cross and very tired—so tired that he would lie and sleep day after day.
Effie was a little girl and didn't know much about the world, but she was quite sure some little girls didn't have so many trials as she and Mollie and her little brother Bob. She saw some at the mission Sunday school who looked as though they didn't have cold mush for breakfast, and as though their fathers cared when their dresses wore out and their shoes grew shabby. Some day she would be grown up, and then she would earn money to buy medicine for mother and good breakfasts and pretty dresses and—"Effie, Effie!" broke in Mollie, "don't you wish you's a hand organ little girl, and then folks would give you pennies, and you could buy a orange. I love a orange just awful."
Effie's face brightened, but soon drooped again.
"If we was rich, we'd do that; but, oh my! hand organs costs lots o' money. More'n you could hold in yer two hands, Mollie Bennett. I heard Jim say so."
Mollie sighed heavily, and Effie sighed too. "Oh, dear!" said Mollie, "I'm sick o' playing graveyard in the sawdust."
"Let's play dolls," suggested Effie, who never could bear to have Mollie get low spirited and cross. Mollie had a twisted foot, and could never play tag nor jump rope, and Effie was a very considerate older sister.
"I hate to play dolls," snapped Mollie, "'cause my doll never has no new clothes."
"Let's sing," said Effie. "Let's sing my hymn, what we learned in Sunday school. Let's play we's grand ladies singing before folks, an' we'll take turns on the verses."
The low, rickety steps became the platform for the singers right speedily, and little Mollie hobbled up and made her bow. She sang in a sweet voice, that somehow sounded very sad and pathetic:—
"I think, when I read that sweet story of old,
When Jesus was here among men,
How he called little children as lambs to his fold,
I should like to have been with him then."
It was Effie's turn next, and she began on the second verse:—
"I wish that his hands had been placed on my head,
That his arms had been thrown around me"—
and then she stopped suddenly, and looked very excited. "Oh! oh!" she said, "I've thought of something lovely—just too lovely."
"Is it something good to eat?" asked Mollie hurriedly. Her pale cheeks flushed quickly and her eyes shone. Effie was always thinking up good things.
"No, not 'zackly," said Effie, looking perplexed; "and—and we'd have to take Bobby with us, I'm 'fraid, to keep him out o' mischief, and he don't know any of it, 'cept the first verse, and he will sing it—'I fink when I read that tweet 'tory of old'—not a bit plain."
"Where? where? On a stage, like grand people?"
"No, just 'round the streets. One street after another, where folks look kind, and as if they wouldn't set their dogs on us, we'll stop and sing my hymn; and then maybe they'd give us pennies if we sung it real good, and they liked it, and we didn't bother them."
"Goody! goody!" shouted Mollie, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. "Let's go. Come, Bobby."
Bobby was always ready to go, for that matter. Effie looked him over, and shook her head doubtfully.
"Bobby, do you s'pose you'll 'member to hold your feet out o' sight, 'cause the holes show dreadful, and will you leave your hat to home, 'cause it's so ragged?"
Bobby promised dutifully.
"And, Bobby, you mustn't sing only just the first verse—just the first, 'cause it's the only one you know. Here to home sister let you sing on it when we sung the others, but you521mustn't this time, when it's for other folks. Now promise."
And Bobby promised, and actually left his beloved hat at home.
"If we get some money," Effie whispered to Mollie, "we'll get him an orange."
They wandered on down the street, and soon they came in front of a nice big store, with a good many men sitting around inside. There wasn't any big dog anywhere about, and so Effie halted, with Mollie on one side and Bobby on the other. She was dreadful scared at first, and perhaps would have run away without the song, but Mollie had started the tune:—
"I think, when I read that sweet story of old,"
and Bobby was using his privilege lustily on this verse. They were the sweet voices of children singing a Christian hymn, and it rose above the clink of glasses and tongues, and hushed the discordant sounds within.
"Hear that!" said the men, and they moved up toward the door. Strange sort of music for such a crowd! Coarse faces, bloated faces, dull, desponding, dissipated faces. On the next stanza Bobby forgot, and sang away as at his first verse, in spite of Effie's twitches at his arm. But it didn't put them out a bit, and his "tweet 'tory of old" rang out above the rest—the sweetest story ever told—"how He called little children as lambs to His fold." No wonder the audience grew interested and quiet. The voices of the children sank low and soft on the last verse:—
"In that beautiful place he has gone to prepare,
For all who are washed and forgiven;
And many dear children are gathering there,
For of such is the kingdom of heaven."
The hymn was finished, and they were going away, and nobody offered to give them pennies. Effie was disappointed—oh! so disappointed, she almost wanted to cry. It was hard enough to plan a campaign, and stand up before all those men, and sing, and now the fun was all gone. It was downright drudgery now. And Mollie, poor Mollie, hobbling down the step with her twisted foot, couldn't understand why the program should end so, and looked up at Effie wonderingly. Bobby only clasped his hand in Effie's, and said coaxingly, "Now I want a orange."
Far back of the others in the saloon was a man who sat with his hat pulled down to his eyes. He didn't seem to hear the sweet hymn, but he did, yes, every word. He knew the voices, and guessed why they had come. He heard the comments of the men, interspersed with oaths.
"Pretty children!"
"I hain't what they might call a Sunday school man, but that's good enough for me."
"Don't look 'sthough they's overfed, hey?"
"Or overclothed, for that matter."
He had heard them sing before, but it never sounded quite like this. "Washed and forgiven," in this sin-defiled place. He raised his head and saw the children turning away from the door with disappointed faces, and Mollie hobbling away last of all.
Someone was asking for a glass now, and remarking, "I reckon their folks hain't teetot'lers."
How he hated himself and his wretched life. He had a dollar in his pocket not yet spent. He got up, and strode hastily out and up the street. Soon he found them. A cross-looking man had ordered them away from his saloon, and the children were crying, while Effie tried to hush them. She tried to hush them more and more when she looked up and saw her father. But he did not scold them. He held out a hand to each, saying, "Come;" and then he stopped at the store and bought some oysters and crackers and oranges, and started for home.
Oh, but wasn't Effie surprised! and as for Bobby and Mollie, they thought oranges were nicer than Sunday school hymns any day.
They all went home and gave mother a surprise—such a big surprise it almost cured her. And the best part of it all is that it lasts.
The "sweet story of old" has taken possession of father's heart now, and no more do the little troubadours have to sing for a dinner.—Christian Advocate.
Little Acts of Kindness
By Frederic William Farrar
Little self-denials, little honesties, little passing words of sympathy, little nameless acts of kindness, little silent victories over favorite temptations—these are the silent threads of gold which, when woven together, gleam out so brightly in the pattern of life that God approves.—F. W. Farrar, D.D.
Discretion in Friendship
"Thy friend has a friend; thy friend's friend has a friend; be discreet."
OUR DAILY BREAD.
A LITTLE girl knelt down to pray
One morn. The mother said,
“My love, why do we ever say,
Give us our daily bread?
Why not ask for a week or more?”
The baby bent her head
In thoughtful mood toward the floor;
“We want it fresh,” she said.
—Selected.
LOVE IN THE HOUSEHOLD.
WHATEVER else betide, whatever losses may come or separations intervene, let nothing prevent the perfect confidence and mutual love that should exist between the heads of the household. Let each one feel, believe, and know that storms may rage without, but cannot come between them; that other friends may be dear and cherished, but no friend can come between them; that fortune may fail to smile, but cannot shake the impregnable fortress of their love. In order to preserve this state of affection, there must be entire confidence in each other; nothing must come between them. They cannot always feel and think alike; this is as impossible as it is unnecessary, and it is better so. The indulgence they ask for themselves they can readily accord, and should delight to do so. Instead of considering what they have given, they should remember what they have received; instead of making comparisons and estimates as to gifts and services rendered, have hearts full of gratitude for the evidences of affection that gold cannot buy. We cannot compel love. It is a tender plant that requires the most gentle nurture.
"A word, a look, has crushed to earth
Full many a budding flower,
Which, had a smile but owned its birth,
Would bless life's latest hour."
A household without love would be like the earth without the sun, a desert for want of a living spring to waken it into beauty, a night without day, a heaven without stars. Cherish love in the household as you would cherish its life; it is its life and glory, and the wealth of the Indies cannot atone for its loss. With it our homes are the nearest approach to heaven our earth affords. A household united in the service of God is a picture of heaven.—Domestic Journal.
THE INEXORABLE FACTS OF HEREDITY.
"I HAVE drunk whisky every day for thirty-five years," remarked a gentleman of sixty, rather proudly, "and I don't see but I have as good a constitution as the average man of my age; I never was drunk in my life."
He was telling the truth, but to learn the whole truth, you would have to study his children. The oldest, a young lady, had perfect health; the second, a young man, was of a remarkably nervous and excitable temperament, as different from his phlegmatic father as possible; the third, a young lady of seventeen, was epileptic, and always had very poor health. Did the father's whisky drinking have anything to do with these facts?
The instance may be duplicated in almost every community. Think over the families of your acquaintance in which the father has long been a moderate drinker, and observe the facts as to the health of the children. The superintendent of a hospital for children at Berne, Switzerland, has found, by careful observation, that only 45 per cent of those whose parents used intoxicating liquors habitually had good constitutions, while 82 per cent of the children of temperate parents had sound bodies. Of the children of inebriates, only 6 per cent were healthy. Can any man "drink and take the consequences," or must his children take the consequences?—Quarterly Journal of Inebriety.
ONE AT A TIME.
By Golden Days
ONE step at a time, and that well placed,
We reach the grandest height;
One stroke at a time, earth's hidden stores
Will slowly come to light.
One seed at a time, and the forest grows;
One drop at a time, and the river flows
Into the boundless sea.
One word at a time, and the greatest book
Is written and is read;
One stone at a time, and the palace rears
Aloft its stately head.
One blow at a time, and the trees cleft through,
And a city will stand where the forest grew
A few short years before.
One foe at a time, and he subdued,
And the conflict will be won.
One grain at a time, and the sand of life
Will slowly all be run.
One minute, another, the hours fly,
One day at a time our lives speed by
Into eternity.
One grain of knowledge, and that well stored,
Another, and more on them,
And as time rolls on your mind will shine
With many a garnered gem
Of thoughts and wisdom. And time will tell,
"One thing at a time, and that done well,"
Is wisdom's proven rule.
—Golden Days.
A WORD TO THE BOYS.
By Josiah Gilbert Holland
IF we are to have drunkards in the future, some of them are to come from the boys to whom I am writing; and I ask you again if you want to be one of them? No? Of course you don't.
Well, I have a plan for you that is just as sure to save you from such a fate as the sun is to rise to-morrow morning. It never failed; it never will fail; and I think it worth knowing. Never touch liquor in any form. That is the plan, and it is not only worth knowing, but it is worth putting into practice.
I know you don't drink now, and it seems to me as if you never would. But your temptation will come, and it probably will come in this way: You will find yourself, sometime, with a number of companions, and they will have a bottle of wine on the table. They will drink, and offer it to you. They will regard it as a manly practice, and very likely they will look upon you as a milksop if you don't indulge with them. Then what will you do? Eh, what will you do? Will you say, "No, no; none of that stuff for me"? or will you take the glass, with your own common sense protesting and your conscience making the whole draught bitter, and a feeling that you have damaged yourself, and then go on with a hot head and a skulking soul that at once begins to make apologies for itself, and will keep doing so during all its life? Boys, do not become drunkards.—Dr. Holland.
MODERN NATIONAL FLAGS.
The Journal of Education gives the following description of the national flags, which we reprint for the benefit of our bright boys and girls:—
United States.—Field with seven red and six white stripes, and a blue canton with stars—Stars and Stripes.
England.—A red flag with a blue canton, barred with a red St. Andrew's cross and a red St. George's cross.
Austria.—Red, white and red (horizontally). A shield and crown in the white stripe.
Belgium.—Black (next the staff), yellow and red (vertically disposed). A device in the yellow stripe.
Denmark.—A red field, with a white cross cutting it into quarters.
France.—Blue (next the staff), white and red (vertically disposed.)
Greece.—A blue field with a white cross in the canton, and four white stripes.
Holland.—Red, white and blue (horizontally disposed).
Mexico.—A white flag with a black spread eagle, holding in its beak a green serpent.
Norway.—A red flag, quartered by blue and yellow stripes, and the first quarter crossed.
Portugal.—Blue and white (vertically disposed, blue next the staff). Shield and crown in the center.
Prussia.—A white flag, with a black eagle and a small Maltese cross in the top corner next the staff.
Russia.—A white flag with two blue stripes running from corner to corner like a St. Andrew's cross.
Spain.—Red, yellow and red (horizontally disposed).
Sweden.—A blue flag quartered with yellow stripes; the first quarter crossed with red and yellow.
Switzerland.—A red flag with a white cross in the center.
Turkey.—A red flag with a silver crescent and star with eight points.
Venezuela.—Yellow, blue and red (horizontally). A device in the yellow stripe.—Sel.
A MOTHER'S PRACTICING.
A young man, who was being examined preparatory to uniting with the church, was asked, "Under whose preaching were you converted?" "Under nobody's preaching," was the reply; "I was converted under my mother's practicing." What a tribute to a consecrated motherhood was that young man's answer! How very near to Christ must that mother have lived!—Selected.
ACROSS THIBET—THE ROOF OF THE WORLD.
By Dr. A. T. Pierson
[Condensed from an article by Dr. A. T. Pierson, in Christian Work.]
ONE of the few countries of the world into which the Christian faith has not entered is Thibet. It is not a small country either, being ten times as large as England, and half as large as China. As far as known, no Christian missionaries have ventured within its bounds. All foreigners have been persistently repelled. A few years ago an English woman (Miss Anna R. Taylor) stood on the line which separates it from China, and, after full consideration, resolved to enter the unknown land, and, if possible, reach its other border.
Miss Taylor offered herself to and was accepted by the China Inland Mission. In 1884 she went out to China, and, having learned the language, worked for a time in Tau-Chau, near the Thibetan frontier. She was the first English person to reside in that city, and in 1880 visited the Great Lama monastery of Kum-bum, where the French priests, M. M. Gabet and Huc, had previously learned Thibetan. Beyond this point no English traveler had gone, though a few Russians had explored the districts. That great, unevangelized land pressed upon Miss Taylor's heart. In the story of the China Inland Mission she saw how the great interior of China had seemed hermetically closed until the foot of faith pressed forward, and then strangely and wonderfully it opened before the Lord's servants as they went in to possess; so she believed it would be on "the roof of the world," as Thibet has frequently been termed, by reason of its altitude. At length she resolved to reach if possible Lhasa, the sacred city of the Lamas, the capital of Thibet.
Leaving China in 1888 Miss Taylor went to a Thibetan village near Darjeeling, to learn the language. From there she pressed forward to Sikkim. "I went," she says, "in simple faith, believing that the Lord had called me. I knew that the difficulties were great, and that enemies would be numerous, but I trusted God to take care of me, just as he protected David from the hands of Saul."
She got not far from Kambajong, a Thibetan fort. Here the natives would ask her frequently what they were to do with her body if she died. She told them she was not going to die just then. They have, however, a custom of "praying people dead," and to this they resorted, taking care to help their prayers in a very effective manner. One day the chief's wife invited the stranger to eat, and prepared rice and a mixture of eggs for her. Some conversation between the women as she was eating aroused Miss Taylor's suspicion as to the eggs placed before her, and, sure enough, after she had partaken, she became ill, with all the symptoms of aconite poisoning. The Thibetan chief was greatly alarmed at her living so near the border, and came over and ordered her back to Darjeeling. She refused to go there, but settled down in a hut near a Thibetan monastery, called Podang Gumpa, living as best she could.
After a year spent in Sikkim, surrounded by natives only, Miss Taylor became convinced that it was the Lord's will she should enter Thibet by way of China. Her stay at Sikkim had, however, not been in vain. First, she had learned the language as spoken at Lhasa, and, secondly, she had secured a faithful Thibetan servant. This young man, Pontso, is a native of Lhasa. Traveling on the frontier of India, he had hurt his feet, and was directed to the white stranger for treatment. He had never seen a foreigner before, and the kindness shown him won his heart, so that from that time he has been her constant companion and devoted servant, as well as a follower of Jesus.
Taking him with her, Miss Taylor sailed for Shanghai, went up the great river to Tau-Chau, a city in Kansuh, on the borders of Thibet, and surrounded by Thibetan villages. She visited several large monasteries, and became familiar with many phases of Thibetan life and character.
A year was thus spent on the frontier, and at last came the longed-for opportunity of penetrating the interior. It came about thus: A Chinese Mohammedan, Noga, had a wife from Lhasa, and he had promised her mother that he would return to Lhasa with his wife in three years. This he wished to do, but, having no money, he consented to conduct Miss Taylor to the capital, provided she found the necessary horses and funds. Noga's wife had already become very friendly with the young English lady, because she could speak her language, which the natives on the Chinese side could not do. Thus the way was prepared, and on September 2, 1892, Miss Taylor and her four servants, two Chinese and two Thibetans, started from Tau-Chau for the interior.
The country is one mass of lofty mountains; a large part of it is above the snow line. The roads are merely mountain tracks, while the people seem to live almost wholly by brigandage, preying incessantly on the caravans which traverse the country. Hence the account of the long and arduous journey is simply a narrative of sore hardship, amid snow and ice, perils from lawless robbers, and yet graver perils from her faithless and false guide, for Noga proved to be a great rascal, whose only object in taking Miss Taylor into Thibet appeared to be to rob and then murder her. In the first he succeeded pretty thoroughly, but in the second he failed, inasmuch as she had "a shield of defense" of which he dreamed not, and she was kept with a sure hand.
Noga began, now that he was fairly in the heart of the mountains, to show his hand, and not only tried to strike and abuse Miss Taylor, but attempted again and again to murder her.
At length she had to leave Noga and his wife, and, with her servant, Pontso, and another Thibetan, named Petegn, she pressed on, penniless and comfortless, for the capital. They had many tokens of the presence of God. At one time they lost their way for three days in the mountains, finding afterward that this had been God's method of sheltering them from a deliberate attempt at murder planned by Noga. Foiled by these purposes, he spread the report that Miss Taylor had gold and precious stones round her body, this being done to tempt the cupidity of the natives to kill her for the booty. Then he went on to Lhasa, and told the authorities of her coming. These sent out stringent orders that she must be stopped, but not injured. Thus, when three days' journey from Lhasa, she was arrested by soldiers, and brought before an official, who told her that if she resolutely went on he could not stop her, but he would be executed for letting her pass. She would have no man's blood spilt for her, and so, though on the verge of fulfilling her long-cherished idea, she turned back on a terrible return journey to China. The chiefs from Lhasa gave her two horses, an old tent, and some food, as her tents were gone, she having been robbed by Noga of two horses, a tent, and nearly all the food.
Sometimes traveling was so dangerous on account of brigands that the escort dared not stop, and traveling went on day and night. On the return journey a strong man, a Thibetan, died from the effects of a cold, and Miss Taylor herself at great altitudes had repeated attacks of palpitation. Cooking, when there was anything to cook, was most difficult, as the water boiled with so little heat. Frequently pieces of ice put in to replenish the pan, floated in boiling water some time before melting. Once she was twenty nights in the open air, sleeping on the ground, snow falling all the time, as neither tent nor house was to be found. The horses were almost starved, the snow covering everything. The poor animals ate even woolen clothing when they got the chance. A small ration of cheese mixed with tea and butter was often all that could be spared for them. Having lost her money, Miss Taylor could not buy a goat. Raw goat's flesh is an emergency food for horses in Thibet, and they like it. In fact, owing to the absence of grass, Thibetan horses will eat almost anything. Crossing fords was a very tiresome task. At first they crossed on rafts made of inflated skins with a few branches tied across. Later on, swimming on horseback was the only course, and this meant being up to the waist in water, the horse's head alone visible, and running the risk of tumbling into the torrent and then on the slippery ice.
A most remarkable experience was the meeting with the tribe known as the Golocks, governed by a woman chief, named Wachu Bumo. This is a most ungovernable tribe, amenable neither to Chinese nor to Thibetan authority, and living entirely by plunder. They go out in irresistible parties of five hundred or two thousand, and are so certain of victory that the women and children go out to see the fun. Plunder seems to be profitable, for they are the wealthiest tribe in Thibet. Wachu Bumo took quite a fancy to Miss Taylor, and gave her a royal safeguard. Finally, after many adventures, Miss Taylor reached Ta Chien-fu, in Chinese territory, on April 12, having left the Lhasa district on January 22, the first English lady, and certainly the first messenger of the gospel, to penetrate to the heart of Thibet. She told the story of what she had seen; many were moved by it, and in one of the closing days of February she sailed again from England at the head of a party of thirteen, bound for Thibet, with the gospel of Christ in their hands. Christian people everywhere will watch with intense interest this earnest band of Christian disciples who have followed Miss Anna Taylor to Thibet.—Christian Work.
FAITH.
I WILL not doubt, though all my ships at sea
Come drifting home with broken masts and sails;
I will believe the Hand which never fails,
From seeming evil, worketh good for me;
And, though I weep because those sails are tattered,
Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered,
"I trust in Thee."
I will not doubt, though all my prayers return
Unanswered from the still white realm above;
I will believe it is an all-wise love
Which has refused these things for which I yearn;
And, though at times I cannot keep from grieving,
Yet the pure ardor of my fixed believing
Undimmed shall burn.
I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain,
And troubles swarm like bees about a hive;
I will believe the heights for which I strive
Are only reached by anguish and by pain;
And, though I groan and writhe beneath my crosses,
I yet shall see through my severest losses
The greater gain.
I will not doubt. Well anchored in this faith,
Like some staunch ship, my soul braves every
gale,
So strong its courage will not quail
To breast the mighty unknown sea of death.
Oh, may I cry, though body parts with spirit,
"I do not doubt," so listening worlds may hear it
With my last breath!
—Selected.
NOTES ON THE KONGO.
By Nora A. Gordon
BY NORA A. GORDON.
ABOUT two hundred and twenty miles from the mouth of the Kongo River, beyond Mukimvika, Mataki, Palabala, and Banza Manteka Stations, stands the Lukungu Station, which is situated in a populous district, and is the center from which have sprung twenty-four schools and five churches, scattered around in all directions.
The work is in charge of Mr. Hoste, an English gentleman who has spent ten years in Kongo without going home. There are other gentlemen associated with Mr. Hoste, while the schools, care of boys and girls, and work among the women, are in charge of the lady missionaries.
Miss Howard is in charge of one of the best primary schools in Kongo. She has about one hundred pupils, and has succeeded in grading the school somewhat on the order of our public schools in this country.
Aside from this she has sole care of thirty little boys, whose ages range from three to thirteen. These come from the different towns around. Many of them are orphans; some are despised little waifs, who have come with their hair, eyebrows, hands, and feet filled with vermin, and their bodies plastered with filth, while there are others who have been beaten and driven from their towns for stealing. Every little scrap of humanity at Lukungu feels that he has in Miss Howard a true friend and mother. When the boys come to her, they are first of all taken to the river near by, thoroughly scrubbed, their heads shaved, and then dressed in little short-sleeved shirts and loin cloths, and installed as members of her household. In the morning she looks after their baths and clean suits, gives them food, takes them to the chapel for service, has them in the primary schools, in the afternoon sends them out to do gardening, and at night gathers them about her and tells them the story of Jesus and his love. It is impossible to describe the wonderful transformation which has taken place in these little lives during the past two years, and many of them have believed in Him who said, "Suffer little children to come unto me."
The women and girls are the bread winners, and until recently no special work has been done for them. But, thank God, they are now being reached, and already Miss Bessie Gardner, a graduate from Wayland Seminary, has in charge a number of girls. She is a noble worker, very quiet and gentle, yet firm and unyielding in her discipline, and seems in every way specially adapted to work for the girls. Mrs. Claflin, a lady from Maine, has had several years' experience in Kongo, and is a mighty power among the women and all with whom she has to do.
The question is often asked, "Is it safe to send out single ladies to the Kongo, where in many places the natives are hostile and treacherous?" In every instance the gentlemen have gone before, made friends with the natives, established the stations, while their faithful wives, in addition to other cares, have taught the first school, won the confidence of the women, cared for the sick and dying, and done the hundreds of little genuinely missionary deeds which have had no place in annual reports and missionary statistics. Much of the success of the Kongo work today has sprung from seed sown by these godly women, some of whom have fallen, while others are still plodding away at their posts of duty. Thus the way has been opened, and, whether single or otherwise, each has her place in the evangelization of the millions of Africa.—Spelman Messenger.
RISE AND PROGRESS
By John Norton Loughborough
—OF—
Seventh-Day Adventists.
Tokens of God's Hand in the Movement, and Brief Sketch of the Advent Cause from 1831 to 1844.
By J. N. LOUGHBOROUGH.
This new book, fresh from the pen of one of the oldest ministers in the advent movement, cannot but be of great interest to all, and especially to those who have become Seventh-Day Adventists in recent years and know but little of the early history of the cause and its leaders.
The following are some of the chapter headings: Extent of the Advent Proclamation; The Tarrying Time; The Midnight Cry; The Disappointment; Fresh Tokens of Divine Guidance; Perils, Reproaches, Victories; New Features in the Work; Providence of God in the Publishing Work; Organization; Rapid Advancement; Though Workers Faint, God's Work Advances; Truth Advanced Even by Opposition.
The book contains nearly 400 pages, with 50 illustrations, several of them full page, and is neatly bound in cloth, and furnished in two styles.
Address,
PACIFIC PRESS PUB. CO.,
OAKLAND, CAL.
Or 43 Bond St., New York.
Historical Sketches
OF THE FOREIGN MISSIONS
Of Seventh-day Adventists.
This work comprises Reports of the European Missionary Councils of 1883, 1884 and 1885, and a narrative, by Mrs. E. G. White, of her visit and labors in these missions. 296 large pages; paper covers.
Price Reduced to 60 Cents, Postpaid.
Combined with the SIGNS OF THE TIMES, one year, $2.00.
Address, PACIFIC PRESS PUB. CO., Oakland, Cal.
LIFE OF WILLIAM MILLER,
WITH PORTRAIT.
This book contains sketches of the Christian experience and public labors of this remarkable man. No other man in this century has been more widely spoken of, and more generally misunderstood. These sketches were prepared by those who were his co-laborers, and are a true presentation of the leading events of his life and labors. In addition to the life and character of the man, the character of the Great Advent Movement, in which he acted so prominent a part, is clearly set forth. It is shown that Mr. Miller was no mere enthusiast, but a man of calm judgment, and his interpretation of the prophecies was mainly correct, his only mistake being in regard to the nature of the event to take place at the close of the 2300 days, in 1844. No one can consider himself well versed in the history of the advent movement in this country who has not read this book.
Contains 408 pp. Price, $1.00.
Address, PACIFIC PRESS, Oakland, Cal.
Christ and the Sabbath
By Editor
CHRIST AND THE SABBATH: Or Christ in the Old Testament and the Sabbath in the New, by Elder James White. Paper covers, fifty-six pages, sent post-paid for ten cents.
Address, PACIFIC PRESS, Oakland, Cal.
Pork Eating Tract
By Editor
PORK: or the Dangers of Pork Eating Exposed, is the title of a 16-page illustrated tract that is deserving of a large circulation. Get it, read it, and send it to your friends. Price, two cents per copy. Address PACIFIC PRESS, Oakland, Cal.
THE . . . .
JUDGMENT
ITS EVENTS AND THEIR ORDER.
God "hath appointed a day, in the which he will judge the world in righteousness."
A book that will interest every student of the Bible.
This subject is treated in nine chapters, as follows: "The Investigative Judgment;" "Examination of the Books;" "God the Father, the Judge;" "Offices of Christ;" "Messages to the World;" "The Sanctuary in Heaven;" "The Crowning of Christ;" "The Executive Judgment;" "The Saints Sitting in Judgment."
The work contains 133 pages, is printed on good paper in clear type. Paper covers. Price, postpaid, 15 cents. Address,
PACIFIC PRESS PUB. CO.,
OAKLAND, CAL.
43 Bond Street, New York.
451 Holloway Road, London, N.
"APPLES OF GOLD LIBRARY."
By Editor
This is the title of a little monthly publication recently started by the Pacific Press, and is designed especially for use in personal correspondence. It is printed on thin paper, and one or two numbers can be put in a No. 6 envelope, with an ordinary letter, without increasing the postage.
The following numbers have already been issued:
No. 1. Looking unto Jesus.
" 2. The Christian's Privilege.
" 3. The Sure Promises of God.
" 4. How to Get Knowledge.
" 5. The Church and the World. (Poetry.)
" 6. The Elect of God.
" 7. How Esther Read Her Bible.
" 8. The Thief on the Cross.
" 9. The Eleventh Hour.
" 10. Benefits of Bible Study.
" 11. Righteousness: Where Is It to be Found?
" 12. Power of Forgiveness.
" 13. Responsibility of Parents.
Five copies for one year, postpaid, 50 cents; or 12 copies for $1.00. Single subscriptions are not desirable, for two reasons: (1) The numbers being so small they are liable to be lost in the mails. (2) If they are used in correspondence, as recommended, more than one copy would be necessary.
Single or assorted numbers of the Library will be mailed in quantities at the following rates: 50 cents per hundred, or $4.00 per thousand copies. Always order by the NUMBER.
Address,
PACIFIC PRESS PUBLISHING CO.,
New York City; Kansas City, Mo.; Oakland, Cal.