p. 12 | Review and Herald, Vol. 84, No. 3. (1/17/1907)

Mr. Hubbell's Conversion

By Lephia B. Larson

LEPHIA B. LARSON

MRS. CLONKEY had lately recovered from typhoid fever, and the doctor advised outdoor work for a while; so she went with her husband on his missionary journeys.

She chose canvassing for her part in the Lord's work, and soon regained her health. She was a sprightly little woman with pleasant face and kindly ways. The evangelists were holding meetings in the village, and Mrs. Clonkey canvassed the farmers near by.

One morning as she stepped inside the gate of an enclosure filled with blossoming fruit-trees and sweet lilacs, she saw a man a little way down the field, and seating herself on an old box, waited for him to approach. He was hoeing potatoes, and came slowly toward her.

At last the row was finished, and Mr. Hubbell crossed the patch of grass, leaned against the apple-tree beneath which the lady sat, and said, as he mopped the perspiration from his sun-burned face, “Fine day, ma'am; an' work just a heaping up. Books?—No! No! I hain't time to look at 'em! but Marthy an' Jim are powerful fond o' readin'. Jes' step along up to the house and like es not Marthy 'll take one.”

Mr. Hubbell led the way to the house, and opened the door. “Hey, Marthy,” he called, and a girl of seventeen came from the kitchen. “Where's Jamie? Have a chair, ma'm. O! here you be,” as a tall boy of fourteen appeared slowly advancing on crutches.

Mrs. Clonkey sat down and laid her books on the table. “If there's anything you want, Marthy, why just subscribe for it!” Mr. Hubbell swallowed a dipperful of water, and hurried back to his hoeing.

An hour passed and still Martha and James Hubbell listened while Mrs. Clonkey read from several books. “O, how I wish father could have heard you read that!” exclaimed the happy boy as a chapter from “Steps to Christ” was finished.

Mrs. Clonkey gathered up her papers, making ready to visit the next farmhouse just in sight, when Mr. Hubbell appeared, flushed and excited. “There—O mercy—PIGS! Marthy, run! Would you mind helpin' us a little, ma'm? I'll pay you well fer it. You see Jamie's lame and can't help.”

Mrs. Clonkey smiled, and laid her Bible and magazines on a chair. It had been several years since she had run down pigs that way. Off they started across the garden. Any one who has ever helped to catch young pigs knows just what kind of time they had. Mr. Hubbell, who was a large, heavy man, puffed and yelled and used some bad language, while the eight little pigs ran hither and thither through the garden, which was the farmer's delight.

“I'll—never—keep—another,” he panted as he chased a little black one round and round an apple-tree. “They're the meanest things—in—the—whole creation! Come, Marthy, hurry! I've got him! Just help me a little. Pshaw! there, he's got away! Let him go; I'm clean beat out. Let's go to the house.”

They went to the house. Mrs. Clonkey gathered up her books. Mr. Hubbell asked her to remain for supper, but time was very precious to her now. “I really can not,” she answered, looking at her watch. “My husband is holding meetings in the village, and expects me to be back to help him.”

“O father,” cried Jamie, “let us go. Let us drive the lady to town.”

A frown gathered on Mr. Hubbell's face. His warmth of manner suddenly changed to zero. “I believe I did hear something about your meetings,” he said. “Well, your man won't get any converts round here. Folks round here are too orthodox, though maybe there'll some on 'em go 'n hear what's said! Do you preach, too?” he added, after a long look at the garden where the eight little pigs had committed such depredations.

“No, I don't preach,” said Mrs. Clonkey, “but I help in other ways that I can. We are going to stay two weeks. Try to bring the children, Mr. Hubbell.”

“Not if I know it,” snarled Mr. Hubbell.

“I wish we could go,” said Jamie.

“We never go anywhere since mother died,” pleaded Martha; “please let us go; come with us, father.”

“Bosh! Nonsense!” growled the father.

“You seemed to be a woman of some sense, but it hain't possible, ef you belong to them that air looking for the second coming of Christ. I ain't much use for any religion, and no use for your kind. No time at all fer it, ma'm!”

“Yes, brother,” answered Mrs. Clonkey, lifting her soft blue eyes to the man's angry gaze. “Yes, brother, Jesus is coming soon, to save all his faithful ones from the sorrow and distress of this sin-cursed earth. Come to the meeting to-night, brother. We will do you good. Don't harden your heart to the Saviour, who died for you.”

Mr. Hubbell bent a terrible frown upon the little woman, and said, angrily, “You go, an' take them papers along with you!”

Jamie and Martha followed her to the gate. “I'm sorry father talked so to you,” said Martha. “He's an infidel, you know, and he and Mr. Offish treat Christian folk dreadfully bad. When mother died, father and Mr. Offish made up their minds not to have any kind of sermon or reading at her funeral, but Jamie and I cried so that Miss Bringwald read a few verses from the Bible. Poor, dear mother, how hard father made it for her to live right!” and Martha leaned against the gate-post while the tears flowed unrestrained.

“Father's good to us every other way, but he won't let us go where we can hear anything about Jesus,” said Jamie. “I thought I'd tell you we'd like to come to the meeting so much.”

“You poor, dear children,” said Mrs. Clonkey. “May the Lord bless and keep you! Good night,” and she kissed the curls on Jamie's brow.

The sad eyes of the “little mother” followed the woman till a turn in the road hid her from view, then with a deep sigh the boy and girl slowly walked back to their cheerless home—cheerless because God's name was never used save in oaths, and the story of the love of the Saviour was considered a fable fit only for an idle moment's jesting.

“I kept one little book,” said Jamie, “I had to.”

Aberdeen, Wash.

(To be concluded)

Women Who Live Alone

WOMEN living alone have a bad trick of trying to save money at the expense of their meals.

Economy in food is right, up to a certain point; after that it becomes folly.

Worse yet, they try to save labor in washing dishes, and when that means not cooking a thing because it is too much trouble to wash the pan afterward, that woman's digestive future is in a bad way.

The worst of this sort of shrinking is that the light housekeeper often works harder to save work than she would if she had things decent and in order.

Especially is this the case with young women who get their breakfast before starting out on their day's work, and

who come back at night too tired to care for anything but a cup of tea and a piece of bread—if it rests with them to prepare it.

This may be economy for a little while, but let a young woman's system once get run down—and nothing will accomplish this sooner than not being properly nourished—and there is no limit to the list of fearful diseases that lie in wait for her.

The actual money cost of having enough to eat is so small that comparatively few working women have to deprive themselves of the necessities in the raw state; but the trouble of preparation often seems altogether too great for a family of one. Then solitary meals are not conducive to enjoyment, and are apt to be a good guide to indigestion and its attendant train of evils.

It is woman's duty—almost her first duty—to provide herself with internal fuel.

Baker's bread is cheap and easy, but its nourishing power is meager. And sweet things that look so attractive in the pastry cook's windows are vain delusions. They do not taste half as good as they look generally, and they take the place of nothing else, being merely extras, not substitutes, to say nothing of their indigestible properties.

If two or three working women can club together, there will be a surprising saving.

The same fire, kettle, and filling of it, will cook a dish for three as well as for one, and the division of labor makes each one's part seem so much easier, even if she actually does more than if she were alone.

Men, as a rule, will pay more attention to the simple rules of health, but then they are less fastidious about their surroundings.

And they are not apt to feel that terrible nervous strain that makes the average woman think she must succeed in putting herself on an entirely self-supporting footing, and help everybody else related to her, all at one time.—St. Louis Republic.

HELEN A. STEINHAUER

By Helen A. Steinhauer

Ps. 55: 22; Prov. 20; 3

HELEN A. STEINHAUER

Is your trouble real? Drop it At the feet of Him who died; If but fancied, quickly stop it,— Starve it! choke it! have you tried?

Fancied ills are sure to gather Force and volume as they roll; Add nor word nor thought, but rather Banish swift from heart and soul.

Peace and blessing follow patience With forgiveness of each wrong; Let them shed their blessed radiance, And your sighs will turn to song.

Honor cometh to him only Who from strife doth keep aloof; ’Tis the fools who’re ever quarreling— And who can not tell the truth!

Battle Creek, Mich.

Her One Talent

MARGARET SANGSTER tells of a woman neither young, nor beautiful, nor robust, nor accomplished, nor educated, who became a bride. She realized that she was extremely unlike her brilliant husband. “I have not even one talent to fold away in a napkin,” she said. But the husband loved her, and she loved him, and would, please God, make him happy. “There is one comfort—I can keep house,” she said. So she planned the delicate, dainty, healthful meals, and kept the home clean, but not forbiddingly spotless. It invited the tired husband to rest, to litter it with books and papers, if it pleased him to bring work home from the office, while she sat beside him ready to smile or speak as he looked up. The husband said, one day: “There’s one talent you have, dear, beyond any one else in the world—the talent of having time enough for everything.” His home was a suburb of paradise, and he went forth to the competitions of life steadily successful in all his enterprises. And the quiet wife, who had time to love him, to share his hopes, listen to his plans, and make his life supremely happy, was an element in his success which counted more largely than even the husband knew.

It is rare to find in this hurrying world a being who works with an air of repose; who can pause to listen to another’s story; who has a heart touched to so responsive a key that sympathy in a friend’s good fortune is as ready as pity for a friend’s calamity.

This woman, who had the one talent of doing fully and blithely every home obligation, by degrees became a social power. A large class of girls each Sabbath bent eagerly around her while she unfolded the lesson to them, and upon stated occasions she entertains the poor, pale, fagged-out girls of the down-town factories, and keeps them, by kindly words and helpful ministry and a Christian example, from places of temptation, for she believes it as much a Christian work to keep young girls pure as to save the poor remnant of their ruined lives after they have fallen.

Telling the life story of this woman, Margaret E. Sangster says: “Altogether, when I think of the sick beds this little woman sits by, the heart-aches she soothes, the confidences of which she is the trusted recipient, the happy home-life which is hers, and the good she is doing, silently, I am quite sure her talent is bearing interest for the Master.”— S. S. Lesson Illustrator.

Never too Slow

It is wonderful how much one's feelings have to do with the way time seems to pass. If one is in a hurry to finish something by a certain hour, the minutes seem to fly too fast. If one is waiting impatiently for the hour to strike, the very seconds seem to creep. Is it not so?

“I am sure that clock is too slow!” cries Harry, waiting for the time to come when he may go out on a promised pleasure trip.

“No, my boy, the clock is not too slow. Your feelings are too fast, that is all,” mama says. “You are in a hurry, but that does not hurry the clock. It goes on just the same, and at the right time it will strike.”

It is one of the hardest things in the world to be patient when one wants a thing very much. One may be wishing earnestly for something that is really a good thing, but he wants it now, and wonders why he must wait. There are young people who are in a hurry to be older, to be grown up, and to have the things that they think will belong to them then. They can hardly wait.

It is a great blessing that God does not allow his good things to be snatched before the time. Everything that is good is coming as fast as he thinks best. As one has wisely said, “God's clock is never too slow.”—Selected.

Charity Toward All

By Mrs. D. A. Fitch

MRS. D. A. FITCH

As I looked through a soiled window, beyond a part of which could be seen blue sky, and beyond the other part a dark building, I noticed that on the part through which the sky was seen there was little trace of dirt, but it looked comparatively clean, while on the other part every speck was visible. The thought was suggested that if we look at our fellow men with heaven in the background, there will be nothing in their lives which charity can not cover. All is absorbed in Jesus, for he stands in place of the erring one.

As the dark background brought out all the soiled spots on the window, so sinful humanity delights in making prominent the faults of those who should be or really are transmitters of light to the world.

A white dove flew between the window and the building, in its passage screening from sight the specks really there. Let us all be like the dove, the white dove, to throw the mantle of charity over the mistakes of others.

National City, Cal.

Kissing the Baby

It Is a Custom Which Ought to Be Violently Discouraged

There is one respect, at least, in which democratic American mothers will do well to imitate royalty. That is the way in which indiscriminate caresses are forbidden the adoring circle of relatives to his little royal highness, the new baby of many names. No one but the queen and the Duchess of York is permitted to kiss him.

That is a most wise rule. A baby is something more than a flower to be passed from hand to hand or a peach to be bitten. It is a nervous little organism, more liable to disorders of all sorts than older persons. And yet it is much to be doubted whether Corbett himself could stand the treatment bestowed upon a helpless infant. It is tossed and cuddled and kissed. No one ever waits to learn whether it is in a mood for caresses. No one ever imagines that it would be better content with less demonstrative affection. It is half smothered beneath kisses. It is rendered breathless, feverish, and nervous by the treatment it receives, and the mother who permits such things wonders that the baby cries so much “for nothing.”—Selected.

A Contented Heart

By Rev. William Secker

A CONTENTED heart is an even sea in the midst of all storms. It is like a tree in autumn, which secures its life when it has lost its leaves. When worthy Mr. Heron lay upon his death-bed, his wife, with great concern, asked him what was to become of her and her large family; he answered, “Peace, sweet heart; that God who feeds the ravens will not starve the Herons.”—Rev. William Secker.

Basutoland, South Africa

By Minnie Cornwell-Chaney

MINNIE CORNWELL-CHANEY

BASUTOLAND is a mountainous country lying southeast of the Orange River Colony and west of Natal. It contains 10,293 square miles, and has a population of about 275,000. It is quite barren of trees generally, but a few have been planted, mostly about the houses of the few white people who reside in Basutoland, such as missionaries, shopkeepers, and English government officials. The land that is granted to these can neither be bought nor sold. Our mission here at Kolo, for instance, has for its use about eight acres of land at the foot of Kolo Mountain, where our mission buildings are located. This is treated as belonging to the mission, but it can not be sold.

The language of the Basuto people is called Sesuto. I think it is not considered difficult. It has been reduced to writing with the use of our own alphabet.

The Basutos have portions of land granted to them by the chief. They live in kraals, and have their allotted lands lying side by side, with no fence of any kind between. They raise mealies (corn) and Kafir-corn mostly, some wheat and pumpkins, a few beans, and sometimes a few other products. The plowing is done with oxen, and the women do much of the hoeing. The thrashing is done in the field, on thrashing-floors—places prepared by smoothing with spades, sweeping, and then smearing with a plaster of mud. The mealies and Kafir-corn are thrashed out by beating with sticks, generally by the men; and the women clear away the refuse and separate the chaff from the Kafir-corn by fanning it out in the wind. The wheat is tramped out by horses or by cattle.

There are quite a number of springs and streams in Basutoland, and I know of no nicer water in South Africa than we have here at our mission station. It comes down from the side of Kolo Mountain in pipes, from a spring which was granted to the mission. However, Basutoland has suffered much during the last few years from the lack of rain; and at times the locusts come and devour the crops. There are many birds here, too, that feed upon the growing grain; so the natives watch their lands to frighten away the birds. The Basutos own a great deal of stock, such as horses, cattle, sheep, and goats, and also a few ostriches. There being no fences generally, the stock is herded, usually by the little boys.

The climate of Basutoland is bright and sunny, but there is much wind. It is very dry in the winter. The summer is the rainy season. There is an occasional snowfall in some places in the winter, especially in the Maluti Mountains, which I think have more or less snow almost every winter. Basutoland has quite a high elevation. Our mission here, at the foot of Kolo Mountain, is probably about five thousand feet above sea-level. The country is not malarious, and on the whole, is quite healthful.

The natives (both Christian and heathen), men, women, and children, often wear little but blankets. The faces of the women are usually disfigured with markings made by cutting small gashes and putting into them a black, indelible substance. By the children the blanket is often dispensed with, and nothing added to take its place.

The Basuto huts are usually built of rough stone, plastered, on the inside and out, with mud. The roof is of thatch, and the floors are of earth, covered with a plaster of mud. Windows are seldom used, but small openings are left in the walls, instead. Enclosures in front of the huts are common. They are formed of Kafir-corn stalks, extending in a circular shape from corner to corner. The ground of the enclosure is plastered like the inside floors of the huts. The Kafir-corn stalks serve both as a windbreak and as a screen. The enclosure forms a sort of general living-room; and one much more cheerful, bright, and wholesome than the darkened and poorly ventilated hut. The cooking and beer making is also frequently done in these enclosures.

The Basutos are very intemperate. They make their own beer, and plenty of it. The light beer, called leting, is an important part of the regular diet. It is used freely and almost universally, among the church people as well as among the heathen. “Beer-drinks” are frequently given at the various homes, and large numbers of the people attend.

There are many schools in Basutoland, but what the people need is the school of Christ. They need Jesus. They need to be taught his will and ways, how to be like him, the necessity of having Christ abiding in the soul. They need to be taught, by the grace of God, “that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world; looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ.” Titus 2:12, 13.

Our work since coming here has been varied, including holding gospel meetings both in the church and in the open air in the native villages, personal work, visiting, treating the sick, Bible teaching, canvassing for gospel literature, Christian-school work, including industrial work, such as cultivating the soil, brick-making, and building.

In August Mr. Chaney and I, with our interpreter,—Murray Kalaka,—went to Makeneng, the village of the late paramount chief, Lerithodi, near Morija, where we spent about a week. We were entertained by a Holland blacksmith and his colored wife and a partner of the blacksmith, who were living in the village in one of the native houses.

Prior to our visit here, Mr. Chaney had sold a book entitled “Coming King,” to an American blacksmith at Morija, and had also taken his subscription for one of our religious papers, The South African Sentinel. This blacksmith loaned the “Coming King” and some copies of The South African Sentinel to a family at Makeneng. They became so interested in these that the Hollander sent his subscription to Cape Town for the paper, directing them to send him all the back numbers for the year. Having learned of this family, Mr. Chaney went to see them; and later we made the visit mentioned.

They told us that on Sunday, only the day before our arrival there, the man was reading in the Sentinel, and there found the Sabbath truth. He called the attention of his wife and his partner, and read to them. They also saw the truth, and all three decided to obey, and walk in the way of God’s commandments.

They seemed to be hungering to hear more of the truth, and their hearts were open to receive it. It was a precious time that we spent with them. Others (natives) came in to hear, and the Lord blessed in the presentation of his message of truth.

Lerithodi’s head wife, who is the head of the village, endeavored to hinder us in our work. She got very angry because we held meetings there. However, the Lord overruled, and just before we left, she accepted some of our literature in the Sesuto language,—a copy of “Steps

to Christ,” and a booklet, “The Coming of the Lord,” which I took to her.

On Thursday evening before leaving that place, we walked to Morija and spent the evening with the American blacksmith, and with an Englishman and a young Dutchman, who were present. We had a very pleasant, and, I believe, profitable evening with them. We arranged with them to hold a meeting there on the following Sunday. On that day we drove down from Makeneng. The Lord was with us, and we had a good meeting, and left an appointment for another meeting the following Sunday.

On the next Monday morning we left Makeneng, and went to a native village, where we were entertained for the night by the chief. He gave us the use of his own hut, the best in the village. Although it was after dark when we arrived, we had a meeting with a number of the natives who came in shortly before we retired for the night. The next morning before breakfast, Mr. Chaney called the people together with his cornet, and we had another meeting, with quite a number present. After breakfast, before we left for Kolo, he called them together again, likewise, and we had the third meeting, about forty being present.

Mr. Chaney has continued the meetings at or near Morija each Sunday (with but one exception) since they were begun. There seems to be a real interest at this place. Members of the family from Makeneng attend. The wife especially is rejoicing in the light of the gospel, and says she does not fear death any more. How sweet it is to scatter the precious seed of gospel truth to hungry souls!

Missionary Work for the Italian People of America

By Chas. T. Everson

CHAS. T. EVERSON

FREQUENTLY in our work here at Rome we find those who manifest much interest in the truth; but when confronted with the difficulties that are involved in its practise, they turn their eyes toward the western sky and look for a way of escape in “the promised land” of America. As a consequence many whose consciences have begun to be stirred by the truths of the Bible go to America with the thought of finding there a country more in harmony with the principles taught in the Sacred Volume.

Others, with no thought of religion, embark for the New World in search of a place where they can make a living, and lay by something for the future. Among both of these classes there are those who can be helped religiously and influenced for the truth.

When they are here in Italy, they are compelled to work early and late, seven days in the week, in order to eke out a mere existence. These grinding economical conditions are not calculated to give them much time or disposition to study the truths of the Bible. And even if they were disposed to do so, there is the ever-vigilant priest following closely in their wake from the cradle to the grave, to see to it that they do not imbibe anything but the doctrines of Catholicism. The people dare not call their souls their own, and of the Bible they are totally ignorant, generally speaking. Should a Bible by chance fall into their hands, it is quickly confiscated and destroyed by the priest. Consequently the poor priest-ridden people are slaves to the church and to their industrial conditions. When we think of these facts, it is not to be wondered at that so many thousands emigrate every year to America. Their friends who have preceded them, write glowing letters of the country, describing it as flowing with milk and honey. And the poor oppressed Italian who is working for a mere pittance will sacrifice his last farthing in order to reach that land of plenty.

Once in America, their financial condition begins quickly to improve, and they feel more like men than beasts of burden. The parish priest also is thousands of miles away; and the superstition and iron hand of priestcraft that previously held them in subjection has largely lost its hold. Surely under these new conditions, surrounded by Protestant influences on every hand, the work of reaching their hearts by the truth ought to be greatly facilitated.

Here it is difficult for them, on account of their poverty, to spend even two cents for a tract; while in America, with a great change in their financial condition, there is no reason why something could not be done in circulating our literature among them.

Why could not the churches that are situated in the cities where there are large numbers of Italians, do something to help this poor priest-ridden class of people? You may question the possibility of benefiting them. But I wish to say that some of the Italians who have gone to America as Catholics have been converted there, and have returned to their country, and become centers of influence for the propagation of the gospel. I have heard of one man who was converted in America—an ordinary working man—who built a church in his home community, and obtained a splendid following for the gospel.

If there are those who would like to take up work among the Italians in America, Italian literature upon the leading points of the message, in the form of small books and tracts, can be procured of any of our regular State tract societies.

Do not let us forget that under the blue skies of Italy many a martyr has shed his blood for the love of the truth. Rome is full of the monuments and records written in blood, that speak stronger than words, telling us what those who lived here in the past centuries did for the cause of Christ. Why can not we expect other just such faithful witnesses for the last great message, also, from this same country?

Rome, Italy.

The India Mountain Mission

By J. L. Shaw

J. L. SHAW

OUR brethren and sisters in America who have so willingly given of their means to start a mission in the mountains of India will be glad to know that fully six thousand dollars has thus far been paid in. Part of this is awaiting disposal at the Pacific Press, Mountain View, Cal., and the rest is in the hands of the General Conference.

We feel deeply grateful to God and to the friends who have given so generously of their means for this good work. It is another instance of answered prayer, and a further assurance that God has great things in store for India. We were told by the Lord’s messenger at the General Conference in 1893 that “the same work must be accomplished in Australia, New Zealand, in Africa, India, China, and the islands of the sea as has been accomplished in the ‘home field.’” From this statement and from a knowledge of conditions in India, undoubtedly the Lord is about to do a short, quick work in that land. Not since Christ was upon earth, and perhaps never before, have conditions been so favorable for a rapid spread of the truth. The entering of Western ideas and the gradual breaking down of caste are favorable to the entrance of light and truth; and the facilities now provided in the way of railroads and postal and telegraph service are agencies for its wide and rapid advancement.

We believe a mission in the mountains will be an advance move, providing as it will a place for our worn and weary workers from the plains to recuperate and revive their exhausted energies. At the same time it will open work among the hill people, and ultimately we hope a training center may be started. If we shall be successful in educating Indian workers in the mountains, they can go, with little fear of disease, to the most sickly and malarious districts of the river and plain region and carry the gospel. In this way the cause may be advanced, and our workers be spared.

We are now on the sea in company with a party of ten workers, and shall soon reach Port Said, the half-way port in the voyage from England to India. We have been blessed thus far with a smooth passage; officers on the ship say it is exceptional. For this we are thankful to God. Five other workers will reach Bombay one week later than our party, and all, God willing, will reach India in time for our general meeting, which will be held early in January.

Our general meeting will be an important occasion, and workers from various parts of India, Burma, and Ceylon will be present, and plans of work will be considered. We shall be favored with the help of Elder G. B. Thompson, of America, who is with us to represent the General Conference, and to counsel and encourage our workers at this meeting. We know our faithful band of missionaries are looking forward to this occasion, and will be greatly encouraged by the arrival of so many new workers.

We feel constrained to ask your prayers especially in regard to the location of the mountain mission. The Lord has provided means for a mission in the mountain districts, and he has done it in answer to prayer; and now let us pray that he who has put it into the hearts of our people to give this money may lead his servants in finding land in a healthful place in the mountains for its location.

We wish to ask all who have not paid their pledges to pay them as soon as possible to the treasurer of their respective churches, that the money may be hastened on. Undoubtedly there are some who have heard little or nothing about this project who would like a share in this important move. Every dime or dollar or multiple of the same will be a godsend to the work in India, and may be sent either to the Pacific Press Publishing Company, who have done so much through the Signs of the Times in raising this money, or to the treasurer of the General Conference, Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. In either case specify that the money is for the India mountain mission.

Costa Rica

By H. Louie Mignot

H. LOUIE MIGNOT

COSTA RICA is one of the territories of the newly organized conference known as the West Caribbean. It is a Spanish republic, and lies between the republics of Nicaragua and Panama. It is divided into seven provinces and eighty towns. These provinces and towns contain two hundred and ninety-five thousand inhabitants. The most important provinces are Puntarenas, Limon, and Cartago. The first is the shipping port on the Pacific coast, and contains fourteen thousand seven hundred inhabitants. The second is the shipping port on the Atlantic side of the country, and is famed for its great export of bananas. It is a growing town, and contains nine thousand and forty-one souls. The third is valuable as a health resort. It is situated on a fair altitude above the level of the sea. Its climate is cool, its air bracing and refreshing, and its soil productive. It has forty-six thousand inhabitants.

Roman Catholicism is the religion of the inhabitants of the country. There are also some Protestant organizations; namely, the Baptist, Wesleyan, and Anglican. They labor chiefly among the West Indians. These people number about eighteen thousand. A goodly number of them reside in the town of Limon. Others live in the several sections along the railroad, while thousands are to be found scattered on the many hundred banana farms.

In this country, with its many thousand inhabitants, there was but one worker until the latter part of this year (1906), when two other workers entered the field. One is located in San Jose, the capital of the republic, a city of ninety-three thousand inhabitants; and the other at Cartago, a city of forty-six thousand souls. Think of the other towns, and their many thousands who must be warned of the coming day of Jehovah’s wrath! The banner of truth has been unfurled, and some have turned from the power of darkness unto the power of light. The believers in the country had reached an aggregate of ninety-three; but from removals and apostasies, their present number stands at seventy-four.

This is among the most needy fields. Its present needs, however, are more workers—workers that are consecrated, experienced, wide awake, and hardy—men who are able to stand the burning tropical sun and the heavy rains—men who know the customs of the West Indians as well as those of the natives. With such workers, we are certain that a bountiful harvest of souls will be gathered in Costa Rica, to await “the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ.” That the dear Lord himself shall direct such workers to this most needy field, is the prayer of his humble servant.

Pacerarito.

Judson the Pioneer

ADONIRAM JUDSON; Burma—two names of strangely differing sound, linked together forever in letters of living light.

The intensity of Judson’s spirit is one reason for the unique place which he holds in our missionary history; the other is found in the remarkable conditions in which he wrought out his splendid work. These were never known before; they never can be again.

Every stage in Judson’s career is marked by storm and stress. Dec. 2, 1808, is noted in his diary as the time when he gave his heart to God. He was then twenty years old, but he had come out of a country parsonage to be an avowed skeptic, and to travel about the country as a reckless, strolling player. Then, profoundly moved by Buchanan’s “Star in the East,” through exalted spiritual experiences he came to the determination to spend his life as a missionary to the heathen; and still further the deeps of his soul were troubled when, as he sailed in the “Caravan” with his sweet young wife in the spring of 1812, Judson, after his study of the New Testament, sorrowfully separated from those who had sent him forth, and cast in his lot with the Baptists.

In Burma, then the kingdom of a native despot, every day brought conflict or suffering. There were no helps for Judson in learning the difficult language; the haughty Buddhists despised him and ridiculed his religion; then came the war between the Burmese and the British, when Judson was arrested and cast into prison. What he suffered in body and mind, no words can ever describe. All that flesh can feel of pain, he felt, and day by day he saw his beautiful and devoted wife, as she came to the prison to minister to him, fading and failing by reason of her trials.

Yet Judson never for a moment faltered in his purpose. The prospects, he said, were “as bright as the promises of God.” He was willing to wait seven years for the first convert, and when friends at home grew impatient, he wrote, “Give us twenty-five or thirty years more, and then inquire again.”

He lived to baptize many scores of Burmans, to know of thousands of converts throughout the country, to translate the whole Bible into Burmese, and then, as he sought a little rest and some relief from his sufferings, he fell asleep on the open sea, and rests beneath the waters that cast their spray against the rocky coast of his boyhood home at Plymouth, and lave the tropic shores of Burma.—Baptist Missionary Magazine.

Bencoolen, East Indies

By G. F. Jones

G. F. JONES

BENCOOLEN, situated on the west coast of Sumatra, is as pretty a place as one could desire to live in. The trees are tall and beautiful, shading the roads. Beautiful plumaged birds flit about in the trees, pretty squirrels and monkeys also jump about among the branches, and the clear blue sky above adds to the peaceful beauty of the place. All this made me long for the true peace and rest of our paradise home, where not only nature is decked in her very best, but the inhabitants also are all righteous.

While I observed the loveliness of Bencoolen's suburbs during my short stay of two hours, I had much to do in a short time, as I had landed for the purpose of getting one of Brother Munson's Chinese orphans, whom I was to take with his brothers and sisters. These I had brought with me from Padang. My two hours' visit was by no means a pleasant one, because of the unexpected difficulties encountered in carrying out my mission, and yet the glimpse I had of Bencoolen's natural beauty can not be forgotten.

Bencoolen has people who would welcome some one to open a school, and be at the same time a missionary. Ten days before on my way to Padang I had called there with only one hour on shore, but had many invitations to come and open an English school. The richest Chinaman in the place offered to help me. A number of people gathered around me in the street, asking many questions, religious and otherwise; Bencoolen's population is not large. Now is the opportune time for the everlasting gospel to enter not only Bencoolen, but all Malaysia.

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