Now, if churches will put up with the fifth, seventh, ninth, or eleventh part of a man, they can have "a church for every minister, and a minister for every church." This unchristian way of pushing and scrambling in our little villages goes a long way to explain the dearth of men on the frontier; and the seizing on "strategic points" in a new country often presents a sad spectacle. I was much perplexed about one place. Our minister was the first on the ground; the people voted for a union church and for him; yet two other churches organized. When I visited the place I found our brother with a parsonage half built. There was nothing but the bare studding inside--no plaster, winter coming on, and his little ones coughing with colds caught by the exposure. Then, to crown all, the house was found to be on the wrong lot, which brought the building to a stand-still; after that two other denominations rushed up a building--one only a shell, but dedicated. There was only a handful of hearers, and our minister preached more than two-thirds of the sermons there. We had the best people with us; and yet it was plain to me there was one church more than there ought to be. Had we not been first there, and things as they were, I should say, "Arise, let us go hence!" I am constantly asked, "When are you going to send us a man?" and we have places where there is only one minister for two villages. Ah, if the pastors hanging around our city centres only knew how the people flock to hear the Word in these new places, surely they would say, "Here am I, Lord; send me." In one place I went to, there were two women who walked eight miles to hear the sermon. One of them was the only praying person for miles around, and for some years back the only one to conduct a funeral service, to pray, or to preach. At this place there was an old lady who came nine miles every Sunday on foot, and sometimes carried her grandchild. Think of that, you city girls in French-heeled boots! In another place of two hundred people, where there was no church, a little babe died. The mother was a Swede, only a little while out. Would you believe it, there was not a man at the funeral! Women nailed the little coffin-lid down, and women prayed, read the Scriptures, and lowered the little babe into a grave half filled with water.