It was very old, low-roofed, and weather-beaten, standing quite a little stretch from the road, and you might have supposed it deserted but for the thin column of smoke that wound slowly above the roof, so desolate did it look. But it was inhabited, and could you have pushed aside the creaking door you might have seen an old woman, wrinkled and gray, sitting by the silent hearth, stirring the dull fire, or looking absently from the window. It was Aunt Ruth Jones, as the neighbors called her, of whom little was known, except that she was a queer old woman—a sort of hermit, living all alone in the old neglected house. It had come into her possession, with the small farm adjoining, by the death of her parents some thirty years before.
At first the neighbors were curious to see the new occupant; they found a tall, spare woman, then thirty-four, little given to gossip, shy and cold; some affirmed that she was proud, and others said that her life had been one of disappointment. But none had succeeded in drawing out her story, and gradually the old brown house and its occupant were left to themselves. Years had wrought changes; the walls were now darkened with smoke, the windows dingy, the floor sunken in; there was nothing cheery in the ill-kept room, or in the face of Aunt Ruth. This ought not to have been so, but remembering her isolated lot, there was not much room for wonder. Some natures become shriveled and cramped when left to themselves, and hers was such an one; I am afraid it was also narrowed and hardened by being shut off from humanity, with none to share her joys or grief, or care indeed, if she had any.
As the days came and went they brought nothing to her but a little round of chores, a bit of patchwork, or straw braiding, and occasionally a walk to the village store to buy the few articles she required. The gay dresses and pert stare of the village girls, the glimpses of happy homes caught through the windows, and the noisy stir of life, only made more striking the contrast of her own lonely lot. Gladly would she hasten back to her own silent fireside, where the cats, at least, were glad of her presence. Old Brindle knew her step, and tossed her head impatiently for nubbins of corn, or the pail of slop with which she was wont to be treated. The hens cackled merrily, and scarcely stirred from their tracks, as her dress brushed their shining feathers. The care of these creatures was a sort of company, and on frosty mornings she might be seen watching them eating so greedily, while her own breakfast was yet untasted, and her feet and fingers benumbed with cold.
Though none shared her heart or home, yet there was sometimes a bright presence within those dim walls, a childish, questioning voice, and sweet laughter. It was Bessie Lane, who had stumbled on the lone old woman one June day, when, bound for school, a sudden dash of rain had driven the child there for shelter. And ever since the happy little girl, with flaxen hair and clear eyes, would go to the forsaken old house to chat with Aunt Ruth. As that springing step was heard, and the latch lightly lifted, there would come a gleam of brightness to the faded eyes, and a smile to the thin mouth. The child found ready entrance to the lonely heart; children will, you know, they are so “queer,” as wise old heads sometimes affirm.
“What in the world makes you visit that old hermit?” said Eliza Ray, her school-mate, one morning. “Bridget, our hired girl, says she is sure such a looking old hag must be a witch.”
“Witch, or not, I like her;” and Bessie Lane tossed up her hat, and pranced off after a fox squirrel just down the road.
So Bessie kept up her visits, and the two would sit and talk together by the hour, Aunt Ruth showing her long-treasured trinkets, relics of years gone by, and detailing their history, till Bessie's eyes would dilate with wonder. On this wintry morning, in which we have introduced her to you, sitting by the dull fire, and looking from the dingy window, the time of Bessie's absence had been longer than usual. The sky was leaden, and the wind whistled down the chimney and shook the casements. But suddenly Aunt Ruth starts and peers through the window. There is a bright little hood and blue cloak approaching; she sees that, but not the carefully wrapped parcel Bessie is carrying, for she hurries to brighten the fire and brush the hearth.
“Good morning, Aunt Ruth. It has been ever so long since I have been here, hasn't it?”
“Yes, a long time for a lonesome old body like me; but this is no place for the young and happy, I know.”
“Oh, yes it is, dear Aunt Ruthie. You must not say so. I like to come real well. But Uncle Jake has been so sick; he sent for pa and ma, and I went with them. It is such a long way off, I thought we never would get there. And oh, Aunt Ruth, I have not told you yet”—and the chubby face sobered down.
“What is it, child?” picking up bits of litterings from the floor. Somehow she always did so when Bessie was around, the hands involuntarily moved in little touches of order and neatness. The room was good enough for her; for the child it seemed dismal and must be brightened a little, unconscious that she was being called to a better life, or that a love for light and beauty was awakening in her weary heart.
“Well, I will tell you; we are going to move away. I declare, I think it's too bad to leave all the girls just as I began to like them, and you, too, Aunt Ruth. I don't want to go one bit;” tears rolling down her face.
“Going away, my little girl going off,” said Aunt Ruth, looking closely at her.
“Yes; and mamma said we couldn't move Chip, it would be such a bother, so I have given poor birdie away to Allie Smith;” tears flowing afresh. “I let Amy Wells have my kitten, but I haven't found a place for my poor little rose. See,” said Bessie, going to the table and removing the wrapper, “isn't it a beauty? You will keep it to remember me by, and take care of it always, won't you, Aunt Ruth?”
The little blossoms were out in full, and seemed to smile a benediction upon the old woman as, looking earnestly at it, she said, “Yes, yes, child, I will keep your rose; no harm shall come to it.” The little plant seemed to carry her thoughts away, for she began talking absently to herself, then recalling her musings, she said:—
“So you are going away; and you'll forget all about poor Aunt Ruth with so many new friends. Well, well, it's natural.”
“No, no, indeed I shall not,” said Bessie, giving her a hearty hug, “and sometime I will come to see you.” They talked a long time, but at last Bessie recollected that her mother did not know her whereabouts, and with a good-by kiss to Aunt Ruth, and to the pet rose, she was gone like a flitting sunbeam.
Then the shadows seemed to come back to the inmate of the old house; but as her glance fell upon the little flower she commenced clearing a place for it to stand in the warmest corner, musing to herself the while. “Just such roses I used to carry in my hand to the old stone church in Amsden when no bigger than Bessie. It seems like yesterday, but ah! it is a long time. May be if I could do like that again it would not be so dark and lonesome like.” Then a grim smile overspread her wrinkled face. “Wouldn't the fixed-up folks stare to see me in their fine churches? No, old Ruth won't trouble them as long as this old hovel will shelter her. I think I'll put the rose here by the south window, then if the child ever does come, she will see it from the gate.”
Bringing a little pine stand, she carefully placed the plant upon it. In doing so, she chanced to glance at the window. “Bless me! it never looked quite so dirty before;” and the woman moved with new life, as she cleaned, rinsed and polished the glass. But this being done the old muslin curtain seemed dingier than common, shading the clear glass; so it was taken down, and another finer one unpacked from a drawer and put in its place. The next morning, as she ate her lonely breakfast, she placed her chair to face the window and the rose. The sun was shining, and as the rays streamed across the room to the opposite wall, she marked the cobwebs. That day the cobwebs were swept down, the other window washed, and the floor cleansed. The old house had not been so neat and cheery for many years.
Near the close of the week she went to the village, this time putting on a dark delaine, instead of the snuff calico with a yellow flower. Somehow the gay dresses and curious glances did not disturb her as much as usual. A pleasant recognition was passed with a neighbor whom she had not spoken to for a year. A feeling had come over her, that she was one of the great human family after all, and the icy mountain of reserve began to thaw just a little. Her purchases made, she concluded to take another road home. This route lay past a church. It was lighted, though early, and a few real worshipers had met to pray before the regular service. They were singing now, and Aunt Ruth paused, as a clear, triumphant voice bore up the strain,— “Plunged in a gulf of dark despair.”
Spell-bound, she listened to its close, never stirring from her tracks till a group of people passed near, then slowly walking on, you might have heard her talking again to herself. “O Ruth Jones, where are you? I used to sing that, too, in the same old church where I carried the roses, only it was years after. I used to pray, too. I wonder if God would hear me now.”
That night, and many nights after, she could not sleep; the words of song kept ringing in her ears, bringing up the old scenes and associations, till the great deep of her soul was broken up. In her darkness she felt groping, feebly for the old paths, and the good Spirit was all the time leading her back to the light. I can not retrace for you all the way that she came. I only know that gradually, surely, the night wore away, and the sun of peace shone upon her soul. She went to the church, where the song had that night stayed her footsteps, and listened to the words of life. Her life became a blessing; for her nature was broadened, deepened and purified. The sick and needy learned to be glad at her coming, and little children ran to meet her.
And did Bessie Lane ever come again? Yes, when June smiled upon the earth the childish figure once more paused at the gate, but the blue eyes gazed bewildered around. “This isn't the place. Aunt Ruth must have moved away.” Well might she think so; the house was neatly painted, the yard fence repaired, and up and down the path all sorts of flowers were blooming. Just then Bessie descried a neatly dressed old lady tying up some vines.
“Can you tell me where Aunt Ruth Jones has gone that used to”—Bessie stopped, and with one bound sprang into the woman's arms, for it was Aunt Ruth herself.
“It is so beautiful here! how did it all happen?” cried the delighted child.
Aunt Ruth smiled brightly, and, taking Bessie by the hand, passed into the neat, cheerful room, and up to the south window, where the carefully tended rose was putting forth new beauty and fragrance. Bessie fairly danced with delight at sight of the rose, but Aunt Ruth seated the child gently by her side, and told how it had happened; how the little flower had at first whispered to her heart of the long ago, of the holy song that would not let her sleep, and, lastly, of God's good Spirit that had so tenderly led her straying steps to the sun-gilt path of peace.
The King and the Farmer.
King Frederick of Prussia, when he was out riding one day, saw an old farmer, who was plowing a field and singing cheerfully over his work.
“You must be well off, old man,” cried the king. “Does this acre belong to you on which you so industriously labor?”
“No, Sir,” replied the old man, who of course had no idea that he was speaking to the king; “I am not so rich as that. I plow for wages.”
“How much do you earn a day?” asked the king.
“Eight groschen,” returned the man. That would be about twenty cents of our money.
“That is very little,” said the king. “Can you get along with it?”
“Get along! yes, indeed, and have something left.”
“However do you manage?”
“Well,” said the farmer, smiling, “I will tell you. Two groschen are for myself and my wife; with two I pay my old debts, two I lend, and two I give away for the Lord’s sake.”
“This is a mystery which I cannot solve,” said the king.
“Then I must solve it for you,” replied the farmer. “I have two old parents at home, who kept me and cared for me when I was young and weak and needed care. Now that they are old and weak, I am glad to keep and care for them. That is my debt, and it costs me two groschen a day to pay it. Two more I spend on my children’s schooling. If they are living when their mother and I are old, they will keep us, and pay back what I lend. Then with my last two groschen I support my two sick sisters, who can not work for themselves. Of course I am not compelled to give them the money; but I do it for the Lord’s sake.”
“Well done, old man,” cried the king, as he finished. “Now I am going to give you something to guess. Have you ever seen me before?”
“No,” said the farmer.
“In less than five minutes you shall see me fifty times, and carry in your pocket fifty of my likenesses.”
“This is indeed a riddle which I can not guess,” said the farmer.
“Then I will solve it for you,” returned the king; and with that he put his hand into his pocket, and pulling out fifty gold pieces, placed them in the hands of the farmer.
“The coin is genuine,” said the king, for it also comes from our Lord God, and I am his pay-master, I bid you good bye.”
And he rode off, leaving the good old man overwhelmed with surprise and delight.
Answer to “People Will Talk.”
By E. L. C.
As we pass through the world we shall never move
slow
If we earnestly seek to serve God as we go,
And keeping this purpose forever in view,
Whatever we know to be right strive to do,
And let people talk.
Be quiet and modest, and this not assumed,
Do not hope to shun censure, for to this we are
doomed.
If blamed when we're striving to walk as we should,
And our Father permit, it may be for our good.
Then let people talk.
If your dress is peculiar, or plain is your hat,
Some one will surely take notice of that.
Remarks will be made, for you cannot go clear,
But oh, if you know it is right, never fear
If people do talk.
It is not always best, to do just as you please.
Independence, alone, cannot give the heart ease.
They only have joy that do perfectly right,
Who pray to God ever, and walk in the light,
If people do talk.
In the bright land of glory, the home of the blest,
From all that accuse and revile, you shall rest.
But here, to avoid them your efforts are vain.
Forgive, and the blessing of God you'll obtain,
And let people talk.
E. L. C.
Mending Our Faults
We may mend our faults as easily as cover them.
RELIGIOUS NEWS AND NOTES.
—The number of priests in France is 50,000.
—Rev. Samuel C. Bartlett, D. D., of Chicago, has been elected President of Dartmouth College.
—The Freedmen's Aid Society of the M. E. Church has evangelized 50,000 colored people. It employs 75 missionaries.
—The Church of the Strangers have decided to place a suitable tablet on the wall near the pulpit, in memory of Commodore Vanderbilt.
—Unitarians and Universalists have not yet been invited to co-operate in the union revival meetings now being held in Boston. The matter is being discussed quite freely by the public press.
—Slade, the American medium, who slid into a great deal of trouble in England, has taken the opportunity offered by a defective indictment to slide out of it all, and has gone in great haste to Russia.
—The Boston Globe, Advertiser and Transcript are giving daily reports of the revival work in that city—reporting the prayers, and nearly the whole proceedings verbatim. The daily attendance is upward of 4,000.
—The Powers are said to have recently exchanged communications respecting the eventuality of a vacancy in the throne of St. Peter. It is reported that the Catholic Powers have engaged to make the strictest use of their ancient prerogatives to insure regularity in the election of a successor to Pope Pius IX.
—The following item, with various comments, is going the rounds of the religious papers: “The first Universalist church in Bergen, N. J., resolves to dismiss their pastor, Rev. Mrs. Phœbe A. Hanaford, and secure one who bears only a masculine title. It is probable that her friends will leave the church and organize another.”
—According to the Paris Univers, another batch of Cardinals' hats is to be distributed. The present 54 “princes of the church” are mostly old men, only two being under fifty, while eight are over fifty, twenty-three are over sixty, sixteen are over seventy, and five are over eighty. The oldest is Di Angelis, Archbishop of Fermo, who is a month the Pope's senior, and the youngest, Cardinal Bonaparte, who is forty-nine.
A Judge's Sentence.
In passing sentence upon some liquor dealers in the State of Iowa recently, Judge Hibbard addressed them concerning their crimes in the following words which can but commend themselves to the good judgment of all:—
While there are greater crimes known to the law, which are punishable with great severity, there are none which involve more of those qualities known as despicable meanness and audacity than the selling of intoxicating liquors.
There is something in the taking of human life by violence so instantaneous that it shocks and terrifies the minds of all, and yet we look upon the man who takes human life quite as surely, but by a slow, lingering process, if not without condemnation, at least without horror. You who stand before the court for sentence are in every moral sense murderers, and you are in the spirit, if not in the letter, guilty of manslaughter; for the law says that whoever accelerates the death of a human being unlawfully is guilty of the crime. Your bloated victims upon the witness stand, and who undoubtedly committed perjury to screen you from the law, not only abundantly testify that you are accelerating death, but that you are inducing men to commit still greater crimes than your own.
You still maintain the appearance of respectability, but how morally leprous and scrofulous you are inwardly, the ruin, poverty and idleness which you are inflicting upon this community declare as from the house tops. You are living in idleness and eating the bread of orphans, watered with widow's tears. You are stealthily killing your victims and murdering the peace and industry of the community, and thereby converting happy, industrious homes into misery, thriftless poverty and rags. You are sowing the seeds of ignorance, and idleness, and want among the generations to come.
Anxious wives and mothers watch and pray in tears nightly with desolate hearts for the coming home of your victims, whom you are luring with the wiles and smiles of the devil into midnight debauchery.
In fine, one can have no adequate conception of a cataract until he sees Niagara, nor of the terrible fury and grandeur of a storm in mid-ocean until he has witnessed one; so no one can know the utter degradation and total depravity to which his species can be brought until he looks upon the desolate ruin caused by your hellish traffic.
You are persistent, defiant law-breakers, and shamelessly boast that in defiance of law and moral sense of the community you will continue in your wicked and criminal practices.
It has now become the imperative duty of this court to let fall upon you so heavily the arm of the law, that you shall either be driven from your nefarious traffic or ruined in your fortunes or wicked prosperity. You have become a stench to the nostrils of the community, and all good men are praying that you may be speedily reformed or summarily destroyed. By the providence of God and the favor of this court, these prayers shall be speedily answered by signal and exact justice for your crimes. This court will feel a proud satisfaction in taking from you by law your ill-gotten gains, and giving it to the common school fund of this county, where, let us hope, it will assist in educating the rising youth to shun your vices and wicked practices.
And, finally, let me entreat you, if you are not lost to every sentiment of humanity, to desist from your criminal, vagabond traffic and betake yourselves to some honest calling for a livelihood, and you may yet become a virtuous, useful citizen, and entitled to the respect of a Christian community; while if you persist in this way, your own ruin is certain and you will receive as you deserve, the execration of mankind.
You may think that the sentence of the court is harsh and unjustly severe, but the court assures you that, compared with your crimes and the desolation you have already brought upon the community, it is mild in the extreme.
SECULAR NEWS.
—President Lerdo, of Mexico, is now in New York.
—There are about fifty cases of small-pox in Los Angeles.
—The Salt Lake grand jury stands four Gentiles and eleven Mormons.
—Strawberries of the finest quality are in the Los Angeles market, selling at 25 cents per pound.
—Brigham Young is assessed in Salt Lake county for $100,000, while it is well known his property would sell readily for $3,000,000.
—There were only 28 deaths in San Francisco last week from diphtheria, against 32 the previous week, and 4 from small-pox against 18 the previous week.
—The President's message, urging speedy resumption of specie payments has been sent to Congress. No time is specified, that being left to the direction of Congress.
—Three tons of clothing have thus far been sent to the field by the London Servian Relief Committee. There are more than 250,000 refugees in a state of nearly complete destitution—the result of the brief war between Turkey and Servia.
—Mr. Remington, who has published the Daily Witness and the Christian at Work for several years, has just sold the latter paper for ten thousand dollars. The Independent says: “It is understood that he has sunk not far from fifty thousand dollars on each of these papers.”
—The natural increase of population in British India for fifty years, ending with 1876, was at the rate of nearly 2,000,000 each year, rising from 125,000,000 to 217,000,000. This is due to the sanitary measures introduced by the English, the abolition of the sacrifices of widows and children and of tribal wars.
—News of a terrible massacre comes to us from Cali, in the State of Cauca, Colombia. A small band of Conservatives had captured the town and were in quiet possession, when, on December 24, an army of the Liberals sacked the place, murdering the men, women, and children to the number of 300 or more, and destroying a vast amount of property.
TELEGRAPHING MUSIC.—A telegram from Chicago, of Feb. 13, says: “At the telegraphers' ball held here last night music was transmitted over the wires, by means of Elisha Gray's telephone, from Milwaukee, with great success. The wires were run into several newspaper offices, and caused great delight to those to whom it was a novelty and wonder.”
—The famine in Southern India seems to be assuming grave proportions. It is stated that it extends from sea to sea, right across the Deccan; that a million of persons are employed on the relief works; that 13,000 destitute persons have crowded into Madras itself; that the cattle are perishing, and that no improvement can be hoped for for six months.
—The Pacific squadron of the Imperial Russian Navy has been ordered to rendezvous at San Francisco, instead of, as usual, in a Chinese or Japanese harbor. There are at present, either in this port or at Mare Island, seven men-of-war. Two or three more vessels are expected to arrive within the next few weeks. What effect the Russo-Turkish imbroglio may have had in directing this westerly movement must be left to the solution of politico-economists.
—So greatly has the manufacture of paper in this country been improved of late years that it can be produced here and sold in London at moderate prices. And yet years ago all our paper was imported, and American manufactured paper, whenever offered here, was frowned upon. Now it is acknowledged to be equal in quality to any manufactured in England. The French writing paper is a specialty with that country that is not yet made here, but in course of time it certainly will be. Some forty manufacturers of paper have combined to direct their efforts to open up an export trade. Success to them.
—A leading New York paper has the following interesting item: “Lockport was one of the pioneers in the introduction of gas for street illumination, and she is about to lead off in an experiment for the introduction of heat on a kindred principle from a general source of supply. Mr. A. H. Holly, the projector of the plan, has earned a wide reputation for professional services as a civil engineer. He estimates that one set of boilers in the middle of a tract half a mile square will furnish steam through service-pipes sufficient to warm all the buildings in the district at a cost far below that at present incurred for private supplies of fuel. The chief difficulty to be overcome is the condensation of the steam in transit, but this occurs at a known rate and allowances can be accurately made.”
—The New York Assembly, acting under the recommendation of the Governor, has put the Normal Schools of the State “under the exhausted receiver” by voting no appropriations for the normal work. The Christian Union, in speaking of this action of the Assembly and of the necessity of a Normal Department to any effective system of education, makes the following pointed remarks: “In England even the diploma of Oxford or Cambridge is regarded by the best school authorities as inadequate evidence of fitness to teach, and in the recent Teachers’ Conference in London Dr. Playfair urged the adoption of an inflexible rule requiring as a condition preliminary to appointment a diploma from a Normal College. And now the Empire State proposes to abolish the whole Normal system and trust to such teachers as it can borrow from other States or pick up by chance within the borders of its own. We perhaps have no right to say that this action is prompted by the Romish hierarchy; but certainly if they desired to send their shaft into the very heart of our public school system they could have taken no more unerring aim.”
Idle Words.
By Rev. W. H. Lewis
It may be thought that undue importance is given to our words. A word! what is it? A mere breath of utterance, often without much of thought or deliberate purpose! Why should it be laid up against us, and an eternal judgment rest upon it? Because it is not the light thing that it is supposed to be. Words indicate our own character, and they help form the character of others. We judge our fellow-men by their words, why should not God do the same? If one is habitually frothy and trifling in conversation, we do not intrust any very grave business to him; we say, “He may be capable, but I don’t like his talk.” A single word has often let us into the character of a man so that we employ or reject him for nothing else. Very likely we are often mistaken in such judgments, but it is one of the means we have of estimating character, and all use it. God never errs in judging, and why should he not use the same means? Words are the index of thoughts. There can be little danger of mistake in saying that a man who swears is not religious, that the whole tone of speech in another indicates true piety.
And, besides, words tend to form character. They have their influence for good or evil. See that young man pouring into the ears of a companion something that he ought not to hear; will it not leave its bad effects? Or the boy who, amid a group of boys, takes God’s name in vain; will he not have admirers and imitators? Or the slanderer; does he not smite and blight with his tongue? What wound is there that rankles more than some evil word that has been uttered against us? Or what gives us more grief than some we have spoken? If we could have the privilege of taking back all that we have ever said amiss, who would not eagerly catch at the offer? But they are gone to judgment beyond our recall, and by them we are to be justified or condemned by the God who has not forgotten one of them. Millions have gone forth from our lips since the days of our infancy, and who can bear the trial of them?
The text of scripture, “Every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of Judgment,” is one that makes us feel instantly that we cannot be saved by our own merits. Who would think of going to Judgment on his own righteousness, when his own words condemn him? We have verily sinned in thought, word and deed, against the Divine Majesty, and have need to pray God for Christ’s sake to forgive us our sins. May he also make us more watchful over our words, that nothing proceed out of our mouth but that which is good to the use of edifying. “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my Redeemer.”—Rev. W. H. Lewis, D. D.
Interesting Fact for Wine-Drinkers.
By Dudley Marvin Canright
The other evening I listened to an able lecture on the subject of health, from a physician who has traveled and lectured in all the great cities of the civilized world, such as London, Berlin, Paris, New York, etc. He had a large collection of paintings, skeletons, manikins, etc., illustrating every part of the body.
Among other things, he said that he knew it to be a fact, knew it by actual observation, that many ladies in Paris, in order to secure fairness of skin, made a practice of bathing in wine. Of course it takes several gallons for a bath; but this would be exceedingly costly. In order to avoid this last difficulty, after they have bathed in the wine, that wine is bottled up and sent to America as French wine, which of course it really is. “Now,” said the speaker, “when you go to the drug store and buy a bottle of French wine, you are frequently getting this very wine which has already served for the above bathing purposes.”
We have no reason to doubt this statement. It is perfectly natural, and in harmony with the covetousness of this generation. Probably if those who drink this French wine would know this fact it might add somewhat to the flavor of their drink! For their benefit I make this note of it.
D. M. CANRIGHT.
CURE FOR WAKEFULNESS.—
For the thousands who suffer for wakefulness Dr. Cooke lays down the theory that in numerous cases of sleeplessness it is only necessary to breathe very slowly and quietly for a few minutes to secure refreshing sleep. Taking note of Dr. Cooke's idea the Medical Examiner remarks: “Certainly, when the mind is uncontrollably active, and so preventing sleep we have ascertained from patients whose observation was worth trusting, that the breathing was quick and short, and they have found they became more disposed to sleep by breathing slowly. This supports Dr. Cooke's practice, but at other times his plan quite failed. It is certainly worth any one's while who is occasionally sleepless to give it a trial. In doing so they should breathe very quietly, rather deeply and at long intervals, but not long enough to cause the least feeling of uneasiness.”
Obituary Notice.
By Joseph Harvey Waggoner
DIED, in Napa, Cal., on the 11th day of February, 1877, Sr. Susannah Woodward, aged 58 years and 10 months. Sr. W. was born in Waddington, England. She early embraced the Saviour, and was a believer in the third angel's message for the past 3½ years. She was devoted and consistent in her religion, and ever ready to assist the needy and the distressed by which she had won the respect and esteem of a large circle of friends. The funeral was largely attended by the citizens.
Her children feel that they have lost an excellent mother, and the church has lost a valuable member. But they mourn not without hope. Funeral services by the writer.
J. H. WAGGONER.
The Pacific Press.
By James White
When in feeble health in Colorado, four years since, the Spirit of God led us out in plans for publishing on this coast. We then looked forward to the time when we should publish a paper in California, on a cheap press in some obscure place, the whole capital invested not to exceed $10,000.
Elder Canright, who was in Colorado at that time, looked upon our suggestions as the result of a disordered imagination, produced by sickness. But had a third person come to us at that time, and there stated to us that in the period of four years a legal Association would be formed in California, with a capital of more than $30,000, owning a lot and building worth $15,000 located in the very center of the beautiful city of Oakland, with the very best large printing machine on the coast, and small presses, types, binders' machinery, and other material the best that could be found in New York and San Francisco, the very things which have been accomplished, both Elder Canright and the writer would probably have set this third man down as insane.
But, reader, the plans of a publishing house in California, which were outlined in our mind in Colorado, four years since, were no wild fancy sketch. In spite of the hard times, and other obstacles which have been thrown in our way, this work of building up an efficient publishing house on this coast has moved forward, and has reached a state of perfection and prosperity that is really wonderful. And if the friends of the cause continue to give their support to this publishing house it will soon be free from all embarrassment and will be a strong, self-sustaining institution.
We are happy to report that the Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association is not paying either rent or interest. But in order to carry forward the publishing work to advantage there must be a capital of at least $5,000 to invest in stock. We import all our papers by the car load direct from Eastern manufacturers with whom we have dealt largely for the past fifteen years, and of whom we purchase at as low figures as other dealers can buy anywhere. By comparing prices with San Francisco dealers we find that we are getting our paper at a saving of 15 per cent from their prices. This done three or four times in a year would make a saving of 50 per cent per annum on the $5,000.
Those who have managed this enterprise have sacrificed largely in time and means, and have resorted to successful plans of economy in order to nourish this young institution. We are publishing a second, a higher series of ten little books for children, with the title of “Golden Grains.” We are also preparing and publishing four volumes of Sabbath Readings for the home circle, and the Sabbath-schools. Besides these, Mrs. W. and the writer are preparing four other volumes, and pamphlets and tracts to be printed at the Pacific Press.
J. W.
Solano Co., Cal.
By W. M. Healey
For the past few weeks, we have been holding meetings in what is known as the Udell school-house, six miles north of Elmira and five miles west of Dixon. The interest here has been good, and a number have decided to obey the “truth.” Last Sabbath and First-day the brethren from Binghamton and Elmira were present, and the blessing of the Lord attended our meeting.
As the company at Binghamton is small, and we hope soon to have labor in Dixon—a flourishing little town only six or seven miles from Binghamton, having five churches and eight or ten hundred inhabitants,—we thought best to unite all into one organization, with the view of having them finally meet at Dixon should a company be raised up there. The interest to hear has already reached that place but we feel that tent labor should be had there and our brethren here are very anxious for it. At present it seems best to hold Sabbath meetings at both Binghamton and the Udell school-house. (This is where we had the discussion on Spiritualism).
Bro. James Blair was selected as leader at Binghamton, and Bro. J. H. Rambo at the Udell school-house. Bro. J. W. Bond was appointed Clerk, and Bro. John Bolton, Treasurer. This company may be known for the present as the Solano church. We have now twenty names on the covenant, (there are also four or five others that are keeping the Sabbath) with about twenty-five or thirty Sabbath-school children.
We have organized S. B. for 1877 to the amount of $200.
We start to-day for Anderson Valley, Mendocino Co., where we expect to labor for a few weeks. Brethren, pray for the Solano church who desire to be taken under the watchcare of the Conference. W. M. Healey.
Feb. 19, 1877.
Who Are the Heathen?
By James White
The California Advocate says of the Chinese girls in the Mission House at San Francisco: “Strange as it may seem, there is a school of some twenty girls in this city who can not venture on the streets together without receiving abuse and having vile epithets applied to them, and if they escape a shower of stones they consider themselves extremely fortunate. They are quite well-behaved girls while in the streets, and look neat and tidy.”
The San Francisco Chronicle of Feb. 13, 1877, speaking of “Heathen Hilarity” connected with their celebration of New Year’s, says:—
“The first Chinese inebriate captured by the police in a year or more appeared in the dock at the Police Court yesterday. He pleaded guilty with an expression of abject despair, and accompanied the gang of old experienced drunks down into the cellar for twenty-four hours.”
It seems surprising that in a population of over 30,000 in one city, mostly males, but one person has been arrested in a year for drunkenness. The like cannot be found in any other nationality. We have before thought that opposition to the Chinese from a certain quarter would be less violent if they spent their money for bad whisky at the corner saloons. We do not say that morality is by any means high among the Chinese, but in some respects they set an example worthy to be imitated by their professed Christian neighbors. J. H. W.
European Press.
We, the undersigned, regard it a great privilege to donate to the Lord, for the European press, under the care of our worthy missionary, Elder J. N. Andrews, One Hundred Dollars each, and invite twenty-five others to join us in raising $10,000.
| James White | $100 | E. H. Root | $100 |
| John Morrison | 100 | Wm. Ings | 100 |
| Geo. I. Butler | 100 | Charles Jennings | 100 |
| Newel Grant | 100 | E. W. Whitney | 100 |
| Aug. Rasmussen | 100 | R. G. Lockwood | 100 |
| An Iowa Brother | 100 | W. H. Hall | 100 |
| Emily Leighton | 100 | Betsy Landon | 100 |
| S. A. McPherson | 100 | S. N. Haskell | 100 |
| “A Fr’d in N. E.” | 100 | O. K. Farnsworth | 100 |
| “W. P. A. M.” | 100 | M. Wood | 100 |
| Robert Stickney, Jr. | 100 | Chas. Chittenden | 100 |
| Mrs. A. Stickney | 100 | Mrs. J. L. James | 100 |
| J. N. Loughborough | 100 | A. LaRue | 100 |
| Chas. L. Boyd | 100 | Mrs. Gutman (deceased) | 100 |
| C. B. Tower | 100 | | |
| Freeman Nichols | 100 | A. H. B. | 100 |
| D. A. Owen | 100 | D. M. Cartwright | 100 |
| Wm. B. Mason | 100 | W. A. Pratt | 100 |
| Jane Rowland | 100 | John Judson | 100 |
| B. N. Berry | 100 | C. Clark and Wife | 100 |
| J. S. Wicks | 100 | Miss M. R. Steen | 100 |
| C. McNeil | 100 | E. Green & wife. | 100 |
| Susie D. | 100 | A. A. Bradford | 100 |
| J. S. Hart | 100 | C. S. Briggs & wife | 100 |
| Jacob Shively | 100 | M. C. Israel | 100 |
| Right hand | 100 | V. B. J. | 100 |
| M. J. Bartholf | 100 | A Bro. in Minn. | 100 |
| Mary Crouch | 100 | H. C. Stone | 100 |
| B. L. Whitney | 100 | Thomas Alverson | 100 |
| S. B. D. | 100 | E. Lobdell | 100 |
| Lucretia Day | 100 | A Bro. & Sr. in New England | 300 |
| S. H. King | 100 | | |
| A. C. Woodbury & wife. | 100 | Elden H. Pullen | 100 |
| James Harvey | 100 | A friend. | 100 |
| John Ely | 100 | G. W. Colcord & wife. | 100 |
| L. McCoy | 100 | D. Ann Albin | 100 |
| S. A. McCoy | 100 | I. Sanborn | 100 |
| “Thank-offering” | 100. | | |