Part 3

On the twenty-first we sighted the bold headlands of Cape Clear, and in the evening we were reading the latest news from London. Having arrived safely in Liverpool, and Mr. and Mrs. Kemp, colored missionaries for the Mendi Mission, reaching the same place a few days later, we were obliged to wait there a week for an African steamer; but the time was well employed in some preliminary business in London and elsewhere, with reference to the proposed new mission in the Nile basin. We had the pleasure of a short but interesting visit with Rev. O. H. White, D.D., the earnest and efficient secretary of the Freedman’s Missions Aid Society, who has done so much to interest our English and Scotch friends in the work of the American Missionary Association. We also called on Robert Arthington, Esq., of Leeds, whose munificent generosity has made possible the opening of the new mission near the head-waters of the Nile, which is to be distinguished by his name. He received us very kindly, and with outspread map before us, we spent a pleasant afternoon together, discussing plans and hopes for the opening of the work next fall, which now seems to promise so well. On Saturday, March 5th, we embarked on board the steamship “Mayumba,” for Africa, and our voyage has been a delightful one ever since. The same steamer had on board two hundred tons of gunpowder for the slaughter of the natives. Like the vessel that carried out rum and missionaries to Turkey, this was carrying powder to kill the Africans, while we were going for their peace and healing. Yet we would rather a thousand times go with the powder than with the rum; for the former, horrid as is the art of war, has in the hands of the English made a way in the wilderness for the heralds of the Cross, while the latter has been and always will be an unmitigated curse.

But the cloud is beginning to lift. We believe that there is a bright and cheering history of African missions yet to be written. The five millions of reserve force, now drilling in America for the final victory, are yet to be called out, and they will come to the rescue. They are already on the move. These educated freemen have developed already many of the proper qualifications for the work. We must expect failures and disappointments at first from those so recently in the degradation of slavery, but we believe theirs is the work, and they will yet do it, and do it grandly, too. With a holy enthusiasm they are coming by degrees more fully to appreciate the fact that Africa is their true field of labor—even as this excellent colored brother and his wife, who are going out with me, say they would rather die for their degraded brethren in Africa, than live in Christian America. As, therefore, we approach the shores of Africa, to enlarge and carry forward this work, I feel that we are now moving in the line of God’s appointment, and that success must ultimately crown our efforts. In this very steamer are those going out in Her Majesty’s service to conquer the rebellious tribes along this same west coast. Shall we, who are the soldiers of the Lord of Hosts, the King of kings, have less enthusiasm and courage in conquering these same tribes with the sword of the Spirit and in the bonds of peace?

TENERIFFE, March 15th.

I am happy to report our safe arrival at this point on our journey. We have had a very pleasant voyage thus far, and have been remarkably well. Mr. and Mrs. Kemp are in excellent health and spirits. I think we may hope much from them. I have learned to esteem them very highly. Last Sabbath we touched at Madeira, and were met on board by Mr. Smart, agent for the “Missions to Seamen Society,” who very kindly invited us to his house to breakfast and dinner. There we met Mrs. Godman, of the Wesleyan Mission at Sierra Leone, who was much broken down in health. These kind friends showed us every attention possible, and we came away feeling that we had had a day of great spiritual as well as physical refreshing. I was much pleased with what little I saw of the place. I have had many pleasant talks with the Kemps regarding their work, and only wish we had a dozen such men to send out to Africa.

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THE CHINESE.

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“CALIFORNIA CHINESE MISSION.”

Auxiliary to the American Missionary Association.

PRESIDENT: Rev. J. K. McLean, D.D. VICE-PRESIDENTS: Rev. A. L. Stone, D.D., Thomas C. Wedderspoon, Esq., Rev. T. K. Noble, Hon. F. F. Low, Rev. I. E. Dwinell, D.D., Hon. Samuel Cross, Rev S. H. Wiley, D.D., Edward P. Flint, Esq., Rev. J. W. Hough, D.D., Jacob S. Taber, Esq.

DIRECTORS: Rev. George Mooar, D.D., Hon. E. D. Sawyer, Rev. E. P. Baker, James M. Haven, Esq., Rev. Joseph Rowell, Rev. John Kimball.

SECRETARY: Rev. W. C. Pond. TREASURER: E. Palache, Esq.

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A GENTLE GROWL.

I love to look over the columns of religious intelligence in the _Congregationalist_, the _Advance_, the _Pacific_. I say to myself: “How well the churches are doing! How happy all these ministers must be! How little they have to annoy, to worry, to depress! How much to make them glad and even jubilant!” Yet, a few days pass, and possibly one of these very ministers knocks at my study door, to talk over, confidentially, the pains, the difficulties, the heavy burdens of his work; a root of bitterness which he has tried in vain to remove, now springing up to trouble him; finances going all awry; sad cases calling for discipline,—the duty imperative, and the church, though stung to the quick with a sense of its dishonor, too timid to come up to its task. Of course, such things ought not to go into the papers nor any other but the good and glad things. We can make others sharers of our joys, but we shrink from asking them to bear, with us, our pains.

“Well, that is all right,” I say to myself, and so it is. And yet those who sustain a missionary work have a _right_ to see it on _all_ sides. God be thanked that I have had so much to report that was cheery, stimulating, hopeful; so little that was otherwise. I wonder if our friends and helpers—readers of the _Missionary_—think that, like the harvest fields of California, so our Gospel work is bathed in perpetual sunshine? or do they know that here, too, we have our darkened skies, our tempests untimely, our frosts premature?

“Well, it won’t hurt them if they don’t see the shady side,” I say to myself again.

“Yes, but am I _truthful_ in the matter?” I reply, and so even conscience puts me up to make a gentle growl. There is nothing very bad to growl about; no more probably than I need; far less than I deserve; but there is something, almost always, on which if one allowed himself to brood, he could soon get up steam to scold hard. And I am not thinking just here of the greater trials of our work, as when some riotous outburst of anti-Chinese prejudice sends these people at sunset to their several retreats, and seems, for the time, to knock our schools prostrate; nor of the sore trials from false brethren among our Chinese Christians—starting discords in the little flocks—or by their vile conduct bringing reproach on the Gospel that they have proclaimed. Those things, I am grateful to say, belong to years past; and, besides, we don’t growl at the great trials—it is the comparatively little things that put us in a scolding mood.

For instance: here is a teacher who has done well—been faithful, skilful and successful; has won the intense affection—almost the reverence of her pupils. But her heart is young, and somebody else’s heart is young also, and these two have grown together, till, in an hour of general congratulation, their hands are joined, and they start off upon life’s journey no longer twain. Then the same zeal, the same concentration of interest and effort which made her so successful a teacher, is developed touching home cares and a husband’s comfort; and weeks grow to months and months to years, and her face is not seen, even for an hour, in the school-room where she served so well. She did not mean it so to be; but so it was, and the shrewd heathen Chinese, that was almost persuaded in view of her zeal and self-denial to become a Christian, thinks now that he sees through it all: “Good pay, good teach; no pay, no teach.”

Here is another teacher who took up the work with zeal and loved it—so she said and so she thought; better and better the longer she wrought. But she is cumbered with much serving all day long, and brings a weak flesh, and, consequently, a not very willing spirit to her evening’s service at the mission. The pupils note it. It is indeed unmistakable, for the head nods and the eyes close, time and again, before the last school hour is half expired. They don’t like to burden her, and one by one they drop out of the school. The Superintendent intervenes as gently as he can; but he finds that it is very difficult to dismiss a teacher and not lose a friend.

Here is a field where the opportunity is evidently large, and the gate to it seems wide open. You enter it hopefully. Plans seem to form themselves almost without your thinking. Arrangements are made and the work begins. Then it appears the arrangements were _not_ made; that you “reckoned without your host;” his plans and yours do not exactly dovetail, and in this case a miss is as good, and as ill, as a mile. Delays ensue; disappointment and failure seem inevitable. The very elements seem to have conspired against you. And yet that opportunity must not be lost, for there are golden harvests possible in that wide-open field, and, somehow, you must reap them.

It is getting past the middle of your fiscal year. We have tried hard to make one dollar do the work of two, and yet the appropriation is well nigh exhausted. Contributions come in slowly. The churches, you fancy, have forgotten this work; or, possibly they dare not propose it among their charities. You sally forth, subscription book in hand. You take the easy ones first, the men that you “_know_” will give. But they respond to your “know” with a different “No.” and you draw back to your retirement, you enter into your closet, and learn to go forth the next time in the use of a coinage and a wisdom not your own and prayer, or the prayer-hearing Master, pulls you through, so that when the year ends the year’s bills are all paid and you take a fresh start for the next twelve-months’ campaign.

But a truce to all this. Who expects to make a voyage and encounter no storms? Who can hope to win a battle without finding that there are blows to take as well as blows to give? Our Master never promised us that just now the currents should float in either to the fulfilment of our task or the attainment of a full salvation; but forewarning us that in the world we should have great trials and tribulation, he adds, “Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

I conclude with this little extract from a letter just received from a new helper, Jue Lee, whom we have sent to Oroville: “Now the school is here first-rate getting on. We have almost thirty scholars every night, but Mr. Ostrom, [Pastor of the church, W. C. P.], read the Bible also. I explain China to them. Now I hope God open their ears to hear; find out this true light soon, and come to worship same God. But Christ is a faithful Saviour, and will not forsake those who put their trust in Him. But I, at first, dislike here; it seem everything so strange to me. Now that I remember what the Bible says: ‘But the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head’ [I am content]. Now I hope God give me power to preach and soon they will be all converted.”

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WOMAN’S HOME MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION.

Room 20, Congregational House, Beacon St., Boston.

MISS NATHALIE LORD, _Secretary_. MISS ABBY W. PEARSON, _Treasurer_.

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MONTHLY REPORT.

This Association has now become a corporate body. A meeting of the Association to complete the business of incorporation by adopting the Charter and By-Laws, was held in the chapel of Mt. Vernon church, on March 30. In spite of the stormy weather the meeting was a large one. Upon a motion to adopt the Charter, the opposition (to the so-called “restriction” policy) at once offered an amendment, to postpone the whole matter of incorporation for a few weeks. A lively and somewhat lengthy discussion followed, which resulted in the loss of the amendment and the adoption of the Charter by a large majority. The debate was renewed over the obnoxious “9th Article,” and an amendment to strike out the word “Home,” as defining the work of auxiliaries, was proposed; but this was lost by a vote of 87 to 30, and the original Article adopted by a vote of 97 to 15.

The Association feel that they have reason to rejoice, not only in the result, but in the whole course of the meeting. It was evident that the opposition steadily lost ground, while the sentiment that the policy of the Association thus far has been a wise and fitting one, made a constant gain. We hope and believe that this is an omen of the increasing good-will and confidence of Christian people towards the Association. While we are thankful for the steady growth of interest and the expressions of that interest in material aid, we pray and long always for more; and we beg that none of the friends of the work will remit, or intermit their interest, but that they will rather redouble their efforts as they see how the field opens before us, and how good a thing it is to help our neighbors in this way, and to serve our country and God.

We give an extract or two from a letter lately received from Miss Carter, at Nashville, telling us something of how she has used the contents of her last barrel, and of the working of her sewing-school.

“Wednesday evening,” she writes, “I had a reception in my room. The guests were dirty, ragged, pitiful boys; some of them can read, some cannot, but all of them are spell-bound by the wonderful stories of _St. Nicholas_ and _The Youth’s Companion_. If the children who sent these papers and magazines sacrificed anything in so doing, may they be blessed for it; they would be could they see the happy, wondering faces of the children, who almost reverently turn the pages and spell out the stories.” * * * “I wish it were possible for you to come into my sewing-school of a Tuesday evening. At two o’clock the girls assemble—noisy, rough girls,—racing and laughing they burst into the room where I wait for them: a room where a family of father, mother and five children live, one of many, in some old barracks that were used in the war. We begin with reading of Scripture and a short prayer, and sometimes the girls sing with their rich, full voices; then we are all ready for the work, which is sometimes sewing, sometimes cutting. There is a great deal of commendable rivalry among the girls as to which shall sew best and fastest, so their tongues run fast until I silence them with a proposal to read or tell a story. They are deeply interested in ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and beside we are having ten minute talks on Physiology, and the care of the body. The immorality among the women and young girls is something to make one’s heart ache, and my daily prayer is that I may do something to turn them to better, purer lives.

“When a garment is finished, the maker buys it for a trifling sum, within the means of the poorest. My other school meets Thursdays, in a school-house, and is conducted on nearly the same plan.

“Pure hearted Northern girls, with homes where every comfort and luxury abound, you cannot picture to yourselves the poverty and degradation of some of these homes where I go daily. Perhaps you read Dickens and Thackeray with moist eyes, and then, laying aside the book, comfort yourselves with the thought, ‘Well, after all there is no Nancy or Bill Sykes. There was never any one so miserable as ‘little Nell’ or ‘poor Jo;’ never any such frightful creature as one of these great hearts has wept over and the other has laughed over.’ But believe me, there _are_ just such; no novelist’s pen has ever colored too highly possible poverty and degradation. What would you say, or rather what would you _do_, were you to enter a cabin where I have been many times? The first time I ever saw —— she was standing in her door-way on a snowy, cold day, _her only article of clothing a calico wrapper_. Within, the one room was as cheerless as a place well could be. In one corner stood a bedstead with only a dirty husk bed on it, in another, a table; there were two chairs, neither boasting a seat; on the table were a few broken dishes, and this list enumerates all there was in the room, absolutely _all_. This woman lives with a man many years older than she; he is a brute, and in his drunken passions beats her; she with one paralyzed and utterly powerless arm can do nothing to defend herself. Perhaps it is no wonder if she too, drinks at times, to forget her misery, yet no amount of persuasion or entreaty will induce her to separate from this man.

“How can other girls and women be saved? Certainly not by the efforts of one woman working single-handed among them, not by the efforts of many such, perhaps; yet possibly by the earnest prayers of pure hearts, that send help while they still pray.”

Receipts of the Association from March 1 to March 28, 1881:

From Auxiliaries $377.63 Donations 90.95 Life Members 245.00 Annual Members 33.00 ——————— $746.58

DONATIONS.

Through Cong. Pub. Society, from Hoosac S. S., Hymn books, papers, &c., for Miss Julia A. Wilson, Baxter Springs, Kansas, $15.88.

Bible Society, New York, 60 Bibles for Mrs. Amelia S. Steele, Almeda, S.C., $24.

From Park St. S. S., Boston, for land for church, to Mrs. A. S. Steele, Almeda, $30. From friends, for Mrs. Steele, new clothing, etc., $25.

Barrel valued at $37, sent to Mrs. Steele, from Ladies’ Benevolent Society, Piedmont Church, Worcester, Mass.

Two cases, valued at $100 each, to Western Missionaries, from Shawmut Av. Church, Boston.

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CHILDREN’S PAGE.

* * * * *

CLAUDIE’S COLOR LINE.

MISS MARY L. SAWYER.

“I never, _never_ can bring myself to do it, Auntie; I know I never can!” and Claudie’s blue eyes grew so very cloudy that Auntie thought the rain drops would surely fall.

“Very well, my darling, you may do as you please,” she said, cheerily; “but now run out into the sunshine, for I shall be very busy this morning and you must amuse yourself.”

That did not seem a hard thing to the little girl, as she wanted to explore the new home into which she had come for the first time the night before. How strange everything looked; the blue mountains in the distance, the cotton fields where women were picking the white balls into baskets, the little log cabins with their queer mud chimneys, and the mules shaking their long ears as they drew the great wagons piled high with snowy cotton bales along the road to town. From the open window of the great brick building opposite she could hear the hum of voices, for this was a colored college, and Claudie’s uncle was one of its Professors. Her mamma had gone to Heaven a little time before, and this was why she was playing alone in the Southern sunshine at Auntie Faith’s home.

But why was she alone? Out under the cedar trees were Pink and Chloe and little Midge “playing supper” with persimmons and chincapins, and breaking out now and then into song as naturally as the mocking-birds themselves. They had viewed Claudie from afar with round, admiring eyes, reserved the biggest chincapins for her use, and Pink had even ventured to say “Howdy?” but the little stranger stood aloof. Not a cross word or a naughty one had any of the children spoken, and they looked as clean and neat as Claudie herself would have looked had she been eating very ripe persimmons as freely as they. Pink’s black eyes were as full of fun and sparkle as Claudie’s blue ones, and her face as bright, and yet playing with these children was the very thing Claudie had said she could never, never do!

I really don’t like to tell you her reason, she would be so ashamed of it now. It was just because their merry little faces were colored _black_ instead of _white_!

Now Claudie would never have been so foolish if she had not heard some grown-up people talking after this fashion just before she left the North:

“I really don’t see how dear Mrs. Faith, with her refined tastes, can _live_ among the blacks,” said one.

“Think of eating at the same table, and actually touching them! It fairly makes me shiver,” echoed another, who sat with one arm around a big Newfoundland dog while she fed him with candy.

And after Mrs. Faith, with tears in her eyes, had told the story of her work and described her love and respect for her colored friends, another lady smilingly said:

“I have enjoyed your talk _so_ much, Mrs. Faith; but I don’t envy you in the least. I know I couldn’t _endure_ the negroes.”

Claudie was not old enough to understand that people who talk in this way are not the best or the wisest or the most refined people, and so their words influenced her. She was a very sociable little body, however, and playing alone soon grew dull. It was hot on the veranda, and, too, indeed, that shady nook under the cedars seemed the only cool spot in the yard just then, and how cunning little Midge did look!

“No second-class on board the train, No difference in the fare,”

piped Pink, gleefully, as she set her table with gouber shells for plates.

Claudie started. Why, Auntie sung that song once, and she said it meant that Jesus and the angels loved black people just as well as white ones, and thought them quite as beautiful. How funny to forget that! If the little angels would be willing to play with colored children of course she could, and then those persimmons were vanishing _so_ fast!

The next minute a little white-robed maiden was flying through the rose-garden toward the cedars.

“Oh, Pink!” she cried, breathlessly, “I never ate a persimmon in all my life.”

“We is saving some for you,” answered Pink, as graciously as if her polite advances had been received at first, “an’ Chloe got some ‘simmon bread an’ Midge brought some goubers.”

What these new delights were Claudie had no idea, and the children’s tongues ran faster than ever as they explained. After the feast came an exploring trip, and under Pink’s guidance the yard and the adjoining field proved a perfect storehouse of treasures.

“’Clare, I done forgot,” she cried, suddenly producing a long necklace of chincapins, and presenting it shyly to Claudie; “I made it on purpose for you.”

“Oh, you splendid Pink!” cried Claudie; “you are the very nicest little girl I know!” and throwing her arms around her new friend’s neck she kissed her rapturously.

Then of course they must play house, with Claudie as the well-dressed mamma, and then came school and church and everything else they could think of, till at last, tired out with play, they threw themselves down in the shade to tell stories.

“I wonder if Heaven is over yonder by the mountains,” said Claudie, dreamily; “my mamma is in Heaven, and she has a beautiful white robe, and a golden crown and a harp!”

“An’ my mamma is in Hebben, too, an’ she wears a collarette,” chimed in Chloe with much importance; “but Hebben isn’t on the mountains; it’s in England!”

Claudie had just opened her mouth to dispute this remarkable statement, when Pink took up the argument: