In making a visit to one Home Missionary, I found him living in a little board house, battened on the outside, but devoid of plaster. His study-table was a large dry-goods box, near the cook-stove, and on it, among other things, a typewriter. It looked somewhat incongruous; and on mentioning this, the good brother said, "Oh that is nothing; wait until it is dark and I will show you something else."

And sure enough, soon after supper he hung up a sheet, and gave me quite an elaborate entertainment with the help of a stereopticon. It seemed very strange to be seated in this little shell of a house, in such a new town among the pine stumps; and I could hardly realize my position as I sat gazing at the beautiful scenes which were flashed upon the sheet.

Across the road was a dance-house; and we could hear the scraping of the fiddler, the loud voice calling off the dances, and the heavy thump of the dancers in their thick boots. Afterwards the missionary gave me a short account of his trials and victories on coming to the new field, and it illustrates how God opens the way when to all human wisdom it seems closed.

When he tried to hire a house, the owner wanted a month's rent in advance; but a short time after called on him and gave him the house and lot with a clear deed of the property for one dollar! At the same time he told him that there were lots of cedar posts in the woods for his garden fence, if he would cut them, and added that maybe some one would haul them for him. The missionary chopped the posts, "some one" hauled them for him, and up went the fence.

The missionary felt so rich that he asked the price of a fine cooking-stove that this man had loaned him. "Oh," he said, "I gave you that." The next thing was to find a place suitable to worship in—often no easy thing in a new town. At last a man said, "You can have the old boarding-house." This was said with a sly wink at the men standing by. So into the old log house went our friend, with his wife; and after a day's work with hoe, shovel, and whitewash, the place was ready. The whitewash was indispensable; for though the men had deserted it, there was still a great deal of life in it.

When the men saw the earnestness of the missionary they turned in and helped him, and became his friends; and in the old log boarding-house were heard the songs of praise instead of ribaldry, and prayers instead of curses, while Bibles and Sunday-school leaflets took the place of the Police Gazette.

The other field in which this brother works would delight Dr. Gladden's heart: 350 people, 17 denominations, all "mothered" by a Congregational church; and I don't know of another church under the sun that could brood such a medley under its wings. When the church was building, one might have seen a Methodist brother with a load of boards, a Presbyterian hauling the shingles, a Baptist with some foundation-stones, and a Mormon hewing the sills—not a Mormon of the "Latter-Day swindle variety," though, but a Josephite. In this place our brother had many a trial, however, before getting his conglomerate together.

The head man of the village offered to give a lot if the church would buy another; and in the meanwhile his charge was five dollars each time they used the hall. But the next time our brother went, the man gave both the lots; the next time, he said he would not charge for the hall; and finally he gave the lumber for the church. The church was finished, and a good parsonage added; and to-day fashionable summer resorters sit under its shadow, and never dream of the wild lawlessness that once reigned there.

The next new place I visited was well out into Lake Michigan, and yet sheltered by high bluffs clothed with a rich growth of forest trees, so that, notwithstanding its northern latitude, six degrees below zero was the lowest the mercury reached, up to the middle of February. This is saying much in favor of its winter climate, when we consider the fact that in the rest of the State it has often been from zero down to forty below for nearly a month at a time.

I do not remember such another month in years,—wind, snow, fires, intense cold, and disease, all combined. However, in spite of everything, the people turned out remarkably well, and I managed to preach twenty-eight times, besides giving talks to the children.

It took twelve hours of hard driving to make the forty miles between home and the appointment, and we were only just in time for the services. I was surprised to see the number present; but what looked to me like impassable drifts were nothing to people who had sat on the top of the telegraph-poles, and walked in the up-stairs windows off from a snow-bank, as they actually did four winters previously. The church here has a good building, heated with a furnace, and owns a nice parsonage where the minister lives with his wife and four children. Although it stormed every day but one, the meetings were blessed by the conversion of some, and the church rejoiced with a new spirit for work.

I next visited E——, a place seven years old, which ran up to fifteen hundred inhabitants in the first three years of its existence. It had about twelve hundred inhabitants, and ours was the only church-building in the place. When the pastor first came, there was neither church to worship in nor house to live in, save an old shingle shanty into which they went. It was so close to the railway that it required constant care in the daytime to keep the children safe, and not a little watching at night to keep the rough characters out. Quite a change for the better has taken place, and a bell now rings each night at nine o'clock to warn saloons to close.

It was a hard winter, and the storms came thicker than ever, blockading all railways, and making the walking almost impossible. Service on the first evening after the storm was out of the question, and for days after the walks were like little narrow sheep tracks. There are a great many things to contend with in these new mill towns under the best of circumstances; but when you add to the saloons and worse places, the roller skating-rink, a big fire, and diphtheria, you have some idea of the odds against which we worked.

In two places I visited, a fire broke out; and one could not but notice the ludicrous side in the otherwise terrible calamity that a fire causes in these little wooden towns in winter. The stores, built close together, look like rows of mammoth dry-goods boxes. When once fire gets a start, they crackle and curl up like pasteboard. At one fire a man carefully carried a sash nearly a block, and then pitched it upon a pile of cordwood, smashing every pane. Others were throwing black walnut chairs and tables out of the upper story; while I saw another throwing out a lamp-glass, crying out as he did so, "Here comes a lamp-glass!" as if it were a meritorious action that deserved notice.

At the other fire I saw a man wandering aimlessly about with a large paper advertisement for some kind of soap, while the real article was burning up. I could not but think how like the worldling he was—intent upon his body and minor things while his soul was in danger; and also how like is the frantic mismanagement at the breaking out of a fire to the sudden call of death to a man in his sins. To add to the misery of these houseless people during this intense cold, diphtheria was carrying off its victims, so that the schools were closed for the second time that winter. These things were used readily as excuses by those who did not wish to attend the meetings. Yet the skating-rink was in full blast. But with all these impediments, the conversions in the meetings, and the quickening of the church to more active life, more than repaid for all the trouble and disappointment.

We often hear of "the drink curse" in these places, and it is not exaggerated; but there is one crime in these new towns of the north that to my mind is worse, and a greater barrier to the conversion of men and women. It is licentiousness. One little place not far from where I was preaching boasts of not having a single family in it that is not living openly in this sin. Although this is the worst I ever heard of, it is too true that our woods towns are thus honeycombed.

About the only hope the missionary has in many cases is in the children, even though he begins, as did one pastor that I know of, with two besides his own. He started his school in a deserted log shanty where it grew to be forty strong, and in spite of obstacles it grew. It was hard work sometimes, when the instinct of the boy would show itself in the pleasures of insect hunting with a pin along the log seats. Yet there the missionary's wife sat and taught. They soon had a nice church, paid for within the year.

I did not expect to find within six miles of a large city such a state of things as existed in Peter Cartwright's time in Michigan, but I did; and lest I should be called unfair, I will say I found there a few of the excellent of the earth.

Let me describe the meeting-place. It was in an old hall, the floor humped up in the middle; there was an old cook-stove to warm it, while a few lanterns hung among faded pine boughs gave out a dim light. A few seats without backs completed the furniture. Here it was that a good brother, while preaching, had the front and rear wheels of his buggy changed, making rough riding over roads none too smooth at their best. Another from the Y. M. C. A. rooms of the neighboring city had his buffalo robes stolen and every buckle of the harness undone while he was conducting services.

Knowing these things, I was not surprised at finding a rough old Roman Catholic Irishman trying to make a disturbance; but a kind word or two won him over to good behavior. Much less tractable were the young roughs, who reap all the vices of the city near by, and get none of its virtues. I had to tell them of the rough places I had seen, and that this was the first place I had been where the young men did not know enough to behave themselves in church. Promising without fail to arrest the first one that made a disturbance, I secured quiet. Of course I had to make friends with them afterwards and shake hands. Oh, how hard it is to preach the gospel after talking law in that fashion; but, friends, think how much it is needed. As a little bit of bright for so black a setting, let me say, that on the second night some kind friends substituted a box-stove for the cook-stove, lamps for lanterns, and an organ to help in the praise.