Puslapio vaizdai

The mother's teaching was so impressed upon one son that he early determined to keep account of his contributions and to give a thousand dollars to the Lord in order that he might overcome the mean and stingy spirit which his mother had described and which he believed possessed him. The amount was twice as much as the mother and all the children were worth. The mother was surprised and gratified at the son's announcement of his purpose, but she did not expect that he would ever be able to carry it out. But that son astonished and delighted his mother before her death by bringing her his accounts, showing that he had paid a thousand dollars into the Lord's treasury. The industry and self-denial and system developed by this struggle became, with the blessing of God, the foundation of a successful business career. This man has completed the larger but not more difficult task of raising his gift of a thousand dollars to the Lord to a gift of one hundred thousand dollars to the Lord. By his life and gifts. probably he has done more for the church and the kingdom in the city where he lives than any minister who has served that city during his life time. How blessed is such a partnership with God! Upon the other hand, a brother of this man, who would not learn self-denial and thus become rich toward God, has become so reduced financially by his vices that for fifteen years he has been a pensioner on his more generous brother.


The devil is a poor paymaster. You can multiply by the score cases similar to the above. You all know people who have been ruined by their extravagance. It is indeed possible that a few unsystematic, impulsive givers have occasionally subscribed too much for church enterprises. But you cannot name one systematic, conscientions tither who, by his own testimony, or in your own calm judgment, has suffered permanent financial loss by tithing. The Jews are the only people who through systematic, voluntary gifts have ever approached the tithe; they furnish fewer candidates for the almshouse than any other people, and they are confessedly the most successful people financially on earth. Here is the scientific test of experiment. Nine-tenths plus God are more than ten-tenths without Him.

Trashilhamo (Story of a Tibetan Lassie).

A Study of Tibetan Character, Life, Customs, History, Etc.



(All rights reserved to the author.)

RASHILHAMO, her two brothers, Tsering (long life) and Norbo (jewel), and servants were sleeping 'neath their warm sheep skin gowns on the floor of the big kitchen, when from the adjoining little room a loud voice was heard. It awoke nearly all the sleepers, though meant only for Gezang (good conduct), the young man-servant. It was the voice of Dorje Semden (Dorje, true-hearted), the local chief of this beautiful highland valley of Bamehgong, lying about 12,000 feet above sea level and forming still the main entrance into Central Tibet. The nearest place of any importance is Batang, that historic spot in East Tibet. It was still dark, and the chief was calling Gezang up to feed the horses.

Gezang, who was sleeping next to the big fire-place (built out from the wall near the middle of the room), rolled over and blew up the smothered fire. He then wriggled into his gown, tied it round the waist with a long girdle, drew on his cloth boots and tied them below the knees. Having thus completed his toilet he buried a pine splinter in the burning argol. It soon blazed up, revealing the servant woman over in the far corner. She rose to make the early tea.

Gezang took the pine torch and descended the notched log, into the great, dark, floorless place below, where were the yak, cows, mules, horses, goats, and sheep. As he measured out pease to the animals required for the journey, he hummed "ommanipemehum.'

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Soon the servant girl had a blazing fire going under the big iron pot mounted on a tripod. The room was filled with smoke, but no one seemed to mind it.

The maid-named after the goddess Drolma-went about her work singing "ommanipemehum" in a low, soft voice. The crackling of the fire, the pouring of water, all tended to sleep, but Trashilhamo, a bright, playful girl of ten, lay cov

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ered up on her wool-felt this morning thinking with a heavy heart about her little brother Tsering, who lay sweetly oblivious of his future.

Presently a low sing-song was heard. It was the chief repeating a long prayer, as was his wont before starting on a journey, or in any unusual circumstance. No other sound was heard, so he must have been repeating the incantation on his bed. This is not uncommon, for a true lamaist is not supposed to lie awake without "saying " saying" prayers. Some will even rise and go through the ritual in the middle of the night.

Then Trashilhamo hastily rose, and before she was quite dressed, her mother came on the scene, muttering "ommanipemehum," not a usual thing with her.

She stopped and looked down on her sleeping boys, but said nothing. The "ponbo," or chief, was the next to appear, dressed in a red "nambu" (woollen gown). He busied himself getting the juniper and incense ready for the morning oblation while incessantly repeating one of the common prayers-now in a mild, pleading tone, now in a loud, almost fierce voice, which died down abruptly to a rapid whisper.

The sun was tingeing the higher mountain tops by the time Dorje ascended the notched log leading up to the flat mud roof. At one corner was a little altar, or oven, where he set fire to the juniper and sprinkled incense on it. As the smoke and prayers floated away on the cold, pure air, Dorje put a big sea-shell to his mouth and produced a few long, weird sounds. At sunrise these long, solemn sounds may be heard from the various house tops all through the valley. This morning the chief was anxious to invoke supreme blessing upon what he was about to do-offer up his promising young son Tsering to God (as he thought). Poor, misguided Dorje ! He was acting, according to his belief, for the good of the boy and the family; yet in spite of all it was tugging at the heart strings of the big man, six-feet-two, as he emptied his lungs into the shell.


The little fellow had always seen the lamas treated with marked respect. They always got the best of everything, and Tsering and his brother Norbo had always fancied becoming priests; they had often played at it. But somehow this morning he found it difficult to get the "dsamba" paste down. It

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