Confucianism wants no little girls, for they are of no use. It is very nice to have one or two, but in the part of China from which I come it is absolutely a custom, if there are more than two or three, to murder the others in some horrible way. One night one of my pupils came to my class very soberly. At first she whispered to the women about her and then they began to whisper to each other. Finally I inquired the reason. One of the women replied, “She is feeling badly because they are killing a little baby down at her house.” “Killing a little baby!” “Yes,” the girl replied, “they have three little girls and another girl has just come. I feel so badly because she is a dear, fat, little baby. I did not want to see her die, but my sister is determined to kill her.” “Oh,” I said, “you go and bring that baby to me. I can take care of her.” So she went, but before she arrived the baby had been murdered in a way too dreadful to tell. [Sidenote: Bathing of children.] It is rather entertaining to pick up, one after another, books and magazine articles written for children about the children of missionary lands, and to find them all starting out with the proposition, “Children are very much the same the world around.” How are we going to reconcile this statement with the fact that some children survive and even thrive upon treatment that would mean certain death to others? What would happen to the little American baby first opening his eyes on the world, if he were taken out of doors as the babies are in Central Africa between four and five o’clock in the morning, when the cold night winds are still abroad, and cold water were dashed over him, and he were left naked out there to dry? The cold water treatment of the Africans and the Lao differs widely from the baths of little ones in Japan where the water must be nearly boiling hot to be of the proper temperature. But in Persia it would be sure death to a newborn baby to be bathed at all,--he must be carefully rubbed with salt as were the properly-cared-for infants of Ezekiel’s time! (Ez. 16:4.) Then into a cradle he is not laid, but strapped, wound round and round until his little legs and arms are rigid and immovable, and the soft bones of the back of his head are flattened as he lies there day after day. Oh, how we long to pick him up and let him change places occasionally with one of the imperial babies of Japan, who must be held in some one’s arms day and night from the time of his birth until he can walk. But no, there he must lie, and, in order that he may not take cold and fall a victim to that dangerous enemy, fresh air, over the ridgepole of the cradle are thrown various coverings, most of which hang to the floor. A missionary told me that once when she wanted to look at a Syrian baby, she took off four blankets which had been thrown over the whole cradle, and then removed a Turkish towel folded double over the