Part 3

_Sunday, Dec. 18._--We started at 6.50 this morning, and soon entered a region of high mountains. Here we saw a number of green bushes. Then we came out on a magnificent gravel plain. Mirage. Toward noon we came to a partial oasis, where are a number, about 200, of palms bearing a fruit peculiar to this one locality. Then a gorge. Then another valley with a few palms. Then passing a narrow defile we entered, what for a fitting name I called the “valley of lost souls.” Terrible heat. Slate mountains. On and on. No rest--no lunch till we reach Murrat. It was nearly 4 P.M. when at last we did arrive, and glad enough we were to throw ourselves down and rest the remainder of the day. The camels must have water and rest, too. There are 15 holes dug in the ground. Only three of them contain water that can be used for camels, and that is not fit to drink. Six men live here and keep the wells open. They also keep goats and crows and a half-dead donkey, which the crows already feed upon. After dinner, we had a pleasant chat with our Arab guide and others. For now, with the help of signs, we are getting so that we can talk quite a little Arabic. My Turkish is a great help, as many words are the same. The camels’ backs are so sore that they have to be seared with a hot iron. This is Sabbath eve, and I have had one quiet hour all to myself out on the sand under the stars.

_Monday, Dec. 19._--We left the wells of Murrat at about 7 A.M., and came out into a vast plain. We met a party at the wells who were eight days from Aboo-Hamed. We expect to make it in four. We pass a region of immense granite boulders, one of them looking exactly like a large cannon--sight and all. Mirage. We lunch without shelter on the burning sand, in a region called _Bergat Allouan_. In the afternoon, meet a party of three. We make for a mountain pass, but it is dark before we reach it. But we push on in the darkness. The camels are tired, and have to be whipped to their work. One is quite used up, and his load is taken off and put upon others. At last we camp in a mountain gorge, called _Cub El Gorphas_. High wind. It is toward 9 o’clock before we stop for the night. We have been at it over 13 hours to-day, and have made about 40 miles.

_Tuesday, Dec. 20._--It blew a hurricane all night. At 2.30 A.M. I got up and dressed me for fear the tent would blow away. The high wind prevented our getting ready for the start before 7.30 A.M. Lunched again on the sand under the shelter of our camels, but the wind was so great that our lunch consisted chiefly of sand. The name of the place was called _El Aderaweb_. Soon after we started we had quite a sand-storm. Passing a rocky gorge and a number of huge boulders, we came to Gebel Afreet, or Spirit Mountain, where in former times strange noises were heard. Make 35 miles, and camp at the foot of two rock mountains called _Gournabat_.

_Wednesday, Dec. 21._--High wind and cold. I wake up the boys with an iron pan for a gong. Meet two droves of camels. Cross an immense plain covered with small stones and sand. Another sand-storm, the wind blowing a gale. Lunch behind our camels at “_Faroot_.” Pass a peculiar high hill that looks like a camel’s back. Now we are on a boundless plain covered with bits of alabaster. We meet several caravans, and pass various boxes of goods that caravans have been obliged to leave behind. Camped at 7.30 in a part of the desert called _Aboo-Enteshat_. It is very cold as we get into our cots, and blowing a gale.

_Thursday, Dec. 22._--Started at 7.45. Every morning the guide invokes the aid of “Sheik Abdel Kadir,” the patron of the desert. Cold wind--sandy plain. Make a pass between two hills called _Gebel Mougram_, where we lunch. Mirage. After lunch the guide gave the word and we started off on a fast trot for Aboo-Hamed, leaving the baggage train to come on behind. We trotted all the afternoon over a long flat, seemingly endless. At last we saw the palm trees by the river. On and on we went, then all of a sudden we saw the river to the right of us. How beautiful the _real_ water looked! As we neared the town we fired a salute, and came in in fine style. We arrived at 5 P.M., and the baggage train came in at 8 P.M. I have met a very friendly officer here, who talks Turkish. A mud hut near the river stood ready for us, and we entered into possession at once. But the river! How beautiful to our eyes! We had a good drink and a good wash.

_Friday, Dec. 23._--The men insisted that this day must be spent here in rest; that they needed it, and must have it. We said “All right,” and after cleaning up our guns and pistols, we went over to the beautiful island of Mokrat, where we were told that game abounded, to see what we could get for our table. We crossed in a crazy log boat that threatened every moment to go to the bottom. Here, after bagging game enough for a day or two, an accident happened. As I was running through some bushes I suddenly became lame, and thought that a serpent had bitten me; but it afterward proved to be a thorn driven into the ankle clear to the bone. Doctor said it was in the worst possible place, and did not dare to cut for it. But the pain soon became so great that it was unbearable, and the foot could not be touched to the ground. It nauseated me, too, and was altogether proving itself so much more than expected, that he determined to probe for it. Twice he attempted it, working half an hour or so each time and sinking the forceps over half an inch and all he dared, and finally, to ease the pain, he cut the nerve. My chief consolation is that I am not the first man who has had a “thorn in the flesh.”

_Saturday, Dec. 24._--We were up early. I was for starting, but the Doctor was afraid of inflammation in my ankle, and all things considered we determined to wait till noon; but the men were drunk, our guide especially, and we were not able to get off till 2 P.M. With a sling I managed my ankle quite comfortably. Soon after leaving Aboo-Hamed we passed a region where the ground was covered with most beautiful stones of many colors, red, green and black. When we had made about 10 or 12 miles we went into camp, as much to let the men get sober as anything. The spot we chose was a lovely one on the bank of the river, sheltered by a grove of palms. Christmas Eve on the Nile! Was there ever a more beautiful one? When the afterglow of a rich sunset had faded from the sky, the moon rose and looked down at us through the palm branches. We had the desert stretching away to the rear, and the winding river with its fringe of palms in front of us. We lay on the floor of our tent thinking of home and telling stories of the happy days of “auld lang syne” till we were warned that it was time to turn in. We are now in the region of crocodiles. We have seen one, and the guide to keep us from the water has told some most fearful stories. He has even tried to make us believe that a crocodile will catch and devour two camels at once. The name of our camping place is _Moushra Adehaish_.

* * * * *

THE CHINESE.

* * * * *

CLIPPINGS FROM CORRESPONDENCE.

BY REV. W. C. POND.

Our readers may possibly remember that we have been making an experimental effort to plant a mission at Point Pedro, a Chinese fishing village, on one of the headlands making out into San Francisco Bay, about twenty miles from this city, and at least five miles from any American village. The work resembles, as to its difficulties, that which would be encountered in any village in China itself, and the teacher--Miss Mary C. Waterbury--is almost as much alone there as she would be if at work in China. One American family--a gentleman and his wife--reside at the point, having charge of the ranch and collecting the ground rents due from the Chinese fishermen, and in this family she has her only opportunity for free conversation in her native tongue. I make the following extract from a letter from her, giving an account of a “Moon Festival,” observed there by the Chinese. “It was a never-to-be-forgotten scene. I only wished that every Christian in this land could have looked upon it. This day has been a general holiday; no fishing, no work of any kind. These poor, tired men, who ply the oar and draw the net seven days in the week, early and late, day and night, are resting. They are to have a good dinner and a good time generally; and, in connection with it, are observing the oldest form of idol-worship this dark world has ever seen. This--not in China, or in Ethiopia, but right here in Christian America, under the very sound and light of the glorious gospel of the Light of the World. Under the clear shining of a bright, full moon a table is spread with the very best the offerer can afford, and then his guests come out, and, one by one, bow down to the moon and worship--worship, ‘not the one who carries the lantern,’ as a Christian Chinese said, ‘but the lantern itself.’ This is about all there was of it--and it does not make much of a story,--but nothing ever impressed me more deeply. I had read of idolatry before, but now I was looking it square in the face. Not many days ago a poor old man died here. Ever since, his daughter and her husband and the grand-children have been worshiping his spirit with all sorts of votive offerings; not from love to him, not to express their reverence for his memory, but from fear of his ghost. And so, right here in America, there is growing up a generation of idolaters.”

Mrs. Langdon, of Stockton, writes: “Since Lee Pak Un came (the Chinese helper) two of our boys have joined the association. We have one pupil who attended school for some time, then absented himself for months, and has now returned. He can read understandingly, is a good Chinese scholar, and is very intelligent, but when approached on religious matters cannot be made to know what I am talking about. The inability, however, is evidently moral. Lee Pak Un says: His friend, surname brother, says he will not be a Christian while his father lives; he is afraid of him. ‘If any man cometh unto me and hateth not his own father, * * * he cannot be my disciple.’ How often these hard sayings of our Lord find illustration in our missionary work! How many of our believing Chinese have been obliged to take the position of one _hating_ father and mother--to do what is interpreted by them and others as acts of hatred, in order to be Christ’s disciples! How often, after returning to China, have they been obliged to stand unmoved by a father’s threats and curses and a mother’s tears, or else bow down to idols and deny their Lord!”

I have not often, in the last two or three years, made mention in the MISSIONARY of our Petaluma school. It has been one of the smallest of our missions, with comparatively little occurring, month by month, to interest our readers or to encourage us. But for several months past, under the care of Miss Carrie L. Jones, daughter of Rev. Dr. R. G. Jones, pastor of the Congregational Church in that city, and through the faithful service of our helper, Wong Ock, new interest has been developed, the attendance has almost trebled, and the harvest seems to be close at hand. One of the pupils, not yet an avowed Christian, writes to Miss Jones as follows: “I come to school every night at 7 o’clock to learn to read and write. I go to meeting Wednesday and to church Sunday-school. Some China boy would like to love Jesus Christ and God. My good friend Wong Ock is a good boy, and I like him very much. California is a good country. Good-bye.” From Wong Ock himself I have several letters on file, from which I give the following extracts: “I feel much comfort and happiness in my heart when I try to do God’s will. I hope I may be faithful at all times and trust in Him, so He may help me, and I may bear much fruit in His name. Charlie, one of our boys, has joined the Christian Association in the last two weeks. Now I find him very good. He seems to have entirely left his old habits, and has given his heart to serve the Lord Jesus.” Again, “I feel very contented, as I have made acquaintance with my Lord and Saviour. I am willing now to give up all I have for His name’s sake, for His righteousness’ sake. But I often shed many tears for those around us who have not known the gospel. For my part (_i. e._, so far as I myself am concerned), I am thankful for those who love Jesus and teach me so well in his name. I hope the reward of my Lord be multiplied to them, so they may know to lead His flock back to His fold. But you know how many of the hearts have been discouraged on account of the bad actions of some Chinese. Nevertheless, we must be faithful. Then I think everything will be well done in the Lord’s sight.” What he means is this: that if we are faithful our Lord will be pleased and will accept us, even though many of those for whom we labor and pray refuse to give up their opium, their gambling, their hatreds, and refuse to become Christians, because they would, as Christians, be obliged to abandon these things. Some months since I proposed to Wong Ock, as I could not afford, considering the size of the school, to pay him the full salary of a helper (_i. e._, $25 per month), to seek work for part of the day in some family, as several of our helpers do, or else to go to Point Pedro with reference to making a thorough experiment in the work there. To have accepted either proposition would have increased his monthly income by at least $10, or 66 per cent. This is his reply: “I prayed to God, and He has shown me the right way, I think. No matter to me in what place I work, only for Jesus Christ. But I think I am useful here; also can study myself. I need but little money, only enough to keep me, and you can give what you think best. I do not wish to leave here, nor work in family, as I get too tired to study; not feel very strong. The question is, What use am I to God? Because not our will, but His, be done. If we can be of use to God, we ought to be satisfied, whether we dwell among the savages or become poor and suffer as Job did, for even our Christ the Lord left the holier and happier place and came to this dark and sinful world to die for our sins. Now, I am sorry if a man drive a hen away, if the eggs she set upon have not time enough to be hatched. My dear brother, if I feel so for the hen, shall I leave the boys whom I have preached to and cared for ever so long, and some of them nearly come to be Christians? I think not. Still I wish to do right.”

* * * * *

CHILDREN’S PAGE

* * * * *

TED’S TEMPERANCE SOCIETY.

A TRUE STORY.

BY AN ATLANTA TEACHER

Between you and me Ted isn’t his real name, but, since I cannot tell you the name which his father and mother gave him, I suppose Ted will do for a boy as well as anything else. The fact is I do not want that you should think so much of the name as of the boy; for I assure you Ted is a boy worth thinking about, even if he is only nine years old, and if he hasn’t a very great superabundance (Did you ever see or hear such a big word?) of money, and doesn’t own a horse, nor a dog, nor a velocipede, nor a bicycle, nor a hundred other things that money will buy. I can tell you though that Ted has ever so many things that money--no, not all the money that Vanderbilt, nor Jay Gould, nor any other man has--can not buy. I mean Ted’s father and mother and two little brothers, and a cunning little sister with eyes like stars, and cheeks like a peach-blossom, and a mouth like a ripe cherry. Then Ted knows a good deal about ever so many things. Of course he got a great deal of this knowledge from his father and mother, as any boy can who has a good father and mother, and what is a boy going to do who hasn’t both?

Ted knows the men and women in the Bible just like a book; better too. He knows them just as well as he does the people living around him, and he can go to the map and find all those places mentioned in the New Testament.

The father, and mother, and Ted, and the little sister (I wish I might tell you her name), made that map, and some day, perhaps, I shall tell you how they did it. Ted’s baby brother, two years old, can name some of the places, too, though Ted says it is very hard for him to say _Cappadocia_, and I think it is no wonder, for that is a dreadful word for a child to say.

Well, as I said before, Ted has all these rich possessions of family friends and knowledge, and better than all, he has, I think, the love of God in his heart just as earnest, and true, and tender as if he were a grown-up man. I do not think that one has to wait to be a grown-up person to love God, do you?

Because of this love, Ted has a great love for human beings, and wants to do all he can to help them, and make them better. He knows that he is a small boy, and cannot do a man’s work, but he does not sit down and say he will wait till he is a man, but he does a little boy’s work as well as he can. Now I will tell you what he has done within the last few months. He has formed a temperance society, and ever so many little boys and girls have joined it.

No one can be a member of this society until he has promised not to drink beer, nor egg-nog, nor anything that has alcohol in it, and he must say he will not use tobacco, nor swear, nor say bad words of any kind.

The way he began was, one day a little boy came into the yard, I mean Ted’s father’s yard, to split wood. He was just a little fellow, not much larger, I believe, than Ted himself, and, if you can believe me, he was smoking!

Of course Ted was shocked, and he thought it must be stopped, so he talked to the little boy, and after some persuasion got him to promise not to touch tobacco again, and _that_ was Ted’s society. Well, the little boy began to help Ted to persuade other little boys to join the society. And so they found plenty. You see there are ever so many people everywhere ready to be good and wise if they only had some one to show them how. So it came about that one after another the little boys went to Ted’s house to sign the pledge. Ted’s mother, who is one of those mothers that can be in many ways a great comfort to a boy, helped about getting cards for the children, and bits of blue ribbon to wear as a sign that they belonged to Ted’s society.

Well, little girls began to join too. Of course Ted’s little sister did so the first of all, for she does not like to be behind her brother in doing right things, and then other little girls came. Why, one evening I went to Ted’s house, and there were seven little people who had just been in to sign the pledge. Of course they carried a great deal of mud into the house. (It is a very muddy place where Ted lives. Oh, my! Sometimes I think there is more mud than anything else there.)

Ted, and his mother and father, were there, looking just as happy as if nothing could make them so glad as to have the carpet all covered with muddy prints of little shoes; but I do not think they were so very glad about the mud as they were to see that the small attempt to do good promised to become a great work, and that, with God’s blessing, Ted might be the means of helping those little boys and girls to become good men and women.

Ted has more than one hundred little people in his society now, and he still keeps working to get in more.

I think I forgot to tell you that Ted lives among the colored people in the South, and that his society consists of colored children; but, never mind, isn’t it just as good to know it now, as if I told you at first?

Yes, his father and mother are missionaries, and if it were not such a large name to give a little boy, I should say that Ted is a missionary too.

* * * * *

OBITUARY.

* * * * *

Miss Sarah A. G. Stevens, for 14 years a teacher among the Freedmen under the commission of the A. M. A., the last three of which were spent in Fisk University, was called to her rest, from the home of her brother in her native place, St. Johnsbury, Vt., on April 5th. She entered the service of the Association in the fall of 1866, and retired at the close of the school-year in 1880, with health and strength so impaired that the rest and change of climate, which she subsequently sought, brought no real improvement. These years of faithful service had been cheerfully and enthusiastically given. The thought of them gave her great comfort and satisfaction during the months of weariness and suffering which preceded her death. Her recovery was hoped for by herself and friends up to the beginning of the new year. In January her physician sent word to Miss E. M. Barnes, a teacher in Fisk University, that there were developments of a fatal disease, and that death was but a question of a few weeks, possibly months.

Miss Barnes had been associated with Miss Stevens for ten years as a teacher in the South, and had been her most intimate friend and companion. She owed her life under God to the faithful nursing and care of Miss Stevens, when attacked by yellow fever during the prevalence of that scourge in the city of Memphis, Tenn., in the fall of 1873, at which time three teachers of the Mission Home lost their lives. Miss Barnes resigned her position and hastened to the bedside of her sick friend. The following extract from her letter, announcing the death of her friend, will best illustrate the peacefulness and beauty of the closing weeks of her life:

“The messenger came for her Wednesday morning, April 5th. Yesterday we laid her body away to its last rest. Rest--how much that means to her; it had been so long since she had known rest. She had failed very rapidly during the week, and yet death came suddenly in the end. Tuesday afternoon, after some hours of great pain and suffering, a change came, and, breathing peacefully as a child, she passed away with an upward look, as if the joys of Heaven were already bursting upon her sight. During the last days of her life she spoke confidently and calmly of her hopes of the future. Often, when suffering the most intensely, nothing would soothe and quiet her so quickly as reading from the Bible. I never remember a murmur against her suffering during all her illness. Allusion was made at her funeral, by her pastor, to her work in the South; that such an example of self-denial and devotion to the Master’s work among the lowly was a legacy to any community.”

* * * * *

RECEIPTS FOR APRIL, 1882.

* * * * *

MAINE, $2,594.67.