Part 3

A CHURCH AND A SCHOOL TO A COUNTY.

The “Mountain Work,” which the A. M. A. has undertaken in the South, has a tendency to make those who engage in it enthusiastic, and we in the field sometimes almost mistrust that even our well-informed officers in New York, with all their appreciation of the need and greatness of the work before us, are accustomed to make a discount of seventy-five per cent. on all we write them. On the other hand, we _know_ we have not been, and shall not be, able to make anyone who has not spent weeks here realize one quarter of the real needs of this field. One has to go into their poor homes and see them in sickness and in death; come into contact with them day by day, and feel the general intellectual and spiritual destitution; see some of them taking on noble, Christian manhood and womanhood, before he can fully comprehend the importance of the work.

The A. M. A., burdened with debt and beset with calls from other needy fields, has been able, so far, to devote but a small sum to this work; yet the work has gone on marvelously. It has been clearly shown what can be done.

I am sure the A. M. A. is ready to hear and heed the command of the churches to go forward, and even to take as a motto: _A Church and a School in every County in the Mountains_. It is with the hope of contributing a little to such a result that I give the following reasons why this should be done:

1. These counties contain from three to fifteen thousand inhabitants each--some of them even more. In most of them there is no day-school worthy of the name, no Sunday-school, no prayer-meeting, no educated ministry, no churches in which pure religion is taught or systematic work of any kind is done. The majority of the people are good-hearted and respond readily to kind words and acts of love. They live mostly in wretched, windowless log-cabins, and know few of the blessings of a Christian land, having no luxuries and few of those things which are generally considered necessities. Physically, mentally and spiritually they need teaching and elevating. For the sake, then, of the two and a half millions already here, there ought to be a church and a school established at once in the county seat, or chief place of every county. From these centers the leaven would work through the whole region, and other churches would spring up about them as they are doing in Whitley Co., Ky.

2. The population is increasing very rapidly. Even the high death-rate from poor food, insufficient clothing, wretched houses, lack of nursing and of competent medical attendance, cannot keep down the increase. The children can be readily gathered into Sunday and day-schools. Another generation ought not to be permitted to remain in the condition of the present and past.

3. Then there is a third reason why this work should be undertaken _at once_ on a much larger scale than at present. The attention of the outside world is turning to the wonderful resources of these mountains. It is becoming known that here is the richest undeveloped part of the United States. The great forests of valuable timber, the thick and easily-mined deposits of coal, the fine quality of iron ore close by the coal, and other undeveloped wealth, are already drawing men here in large numbers. The railroads are pushing their way among the mountains and immigration will add more and more to the population, and vastly more to the wealth. Villages are springing up, cities will soon follow, and before many years this region will be filled with an enterprising and well-to-do people.

Now is the time for the Christian influences which are to mould the future history of this people for good, to be set in motion from strategic points. Cannot the Congregational churches, which have the lead in Christian work here, arise in faith and take possession of the land in the name of the Lord?

There is one place which gives promise of being the future center of this whole region and the largest place in the mountains. It is now absolutely destitute of all elevating, religious and educational institutions. It is nearly one hundred miles from the nearest A. M. A. work. It is a village of three or four hundred inhabitants, with a thickly populated country all around it. A railroad is on the way to it, and it has such exceptional advantages that it can scarcely fail to become a large and important place. It ought to be occupied at once, for people are beginning to come in advance of the railroad and now is by far the easiest and cheapest time to start the work.

Is there not some man of consecrated wealth who will assume the financial part of establishing at once a mission in this place? A neat, inexpensive little chapel, a school building, a young minister and his wife, a teacher and his wife, would make a beginning from which great things would be sure to result. Beginning with this place, there ought to be a church and a school placed one after another in the most promising places, until there shall be a center of mental and spiritual enlightenment within the reach of every person in this backwood, but promising region.

FRANK E. JENKINS.

* * * * *

THE INDIANS.

* * * * *

SPEECH OF ELI ABRAHAM, A NATIVE INDIAN.

DELIVERED BEFORE THE DAKOTA ASSOCIATION.

_My Friends_: When I was fifteen years old I learned to read God’s Word; and from the time I learned to read it I have desired earnestly to know what was in it.

Although I did not know much, it has been my work now for about eighteen years to teach others, the boys and girls and young people who have come to school at Santee. When our school first began we held it in a log house covered with dirt, and with a hay floor. The boys and girls came to school wearing their blankets, and they sat on the ground to study. But now we have good buildings, and besides teaching in books, our pupils are taught various industries--such as shoemaking, blacksmithing, carpentry and farming, and our girls in all home work.

Our boys like to take exercise in playing base ball, and I have noticed that when the base ball clubs of white young men from the towns around come in to play ball with them, the white young men get beaten; or when they try their speed with our boys in foot races, they also get beaten. And it seems to me that if our young men can be rightly instructed, they are sure to make good progress.

It has been my work to teach our scholars in the Bible. They come from many different tribes. Some are Titon Sioux, some Grosventres, some Poncas, some Arapahoes, some Yanktons, some Brules, yet all learn to read the Bible in our Santee dialect, and the past year I have been much pleased because of their interest in it. Often they ask so many questions that we don’t get on very far with our reading.

It seems to me that the best way to train up a people is to begin with the children. It is like this: Once I pulled up a little seedling tree a foot high, and planted it near my house, where I watered it and cared for it. When the dogs scratched it over, or the oxen trod on it, I straightened it up again. Then I drove down a strong stake beside it, and I tied it up in whatever direction it was crooked. Now, after ten years, it is a tall, straight tree. So it seems to me that if we take the children and bring them up straight, we shall have an upright nation, and that by God’s Word we shall make them truly upright.

I have been thinking also how we should train our people in benevolence. We must train the children. I have a little girl, to whom I gave a red cent and wished to teach her something. So I asked her to what she would give it--to the sick, or for the preacher, or for sending missionaries? “What do they send missionaries for?” she asked. “To teach the people God’s Word who have not heard it,” I answered. “But what will one cent do?” she replied. Said I, “If one hundred little girls should give a cent each, it would make a dollar.” My little girl had learned to sing and play a little on the organ. When the young men came in, they would ask her to sing for them; but after this she would answer, “I will if you will give me a cent.” When she had laid by five cents, I asked her if she was going to buy candy or nuts with it. “No,” says she, “I am going to give this to Mr. Singing Walker, our missionary to the wild Indians.” This, it seems to me, shows the way we are to train up our people, beginning with the children.

* * * * *

THE CHINESE.

* * * * *

HOME-LOVE VERSUS CHRIST-LOVE.

To all persons familiar with missionary work in foreign lands the fact suggested by the title of this article is more or less familiar. It sometimes occurs, even in American families, that Christ enters “to set a man at variance against his father and even a daughter against her mother,” but this is unusual, so much so as to seem almost monstrous. When, as was the case last week, not far from my own field, the conversion of a daughter provokes the mother to disown her and to bid her leave home and look out for herself, we are set wondering what strange madness has wrecked that mother’s heart, and we ask, Is she possessed of the devil?

But this experience is usual in the turning of our Chinese to Christ. Scarcely any of them can escape it. And the questionings and struggles and sorrows are often very severe, and I have, of late, been specially impressed by them. Thus, Mrs. Shattuck, of Santa Barbara, writes: “We have three or four anxious to join the Association [thus making profession of faith in Christ--W. C. P.], but they are afraid of their own families. Tong is a good Christian boy,--as a pupil and as a singer equal to any China boy I ever had. When he talked with me he trembled like a leaf, saying, ‘I do so love your Jesus, but my family be angry. What shall I do?’”

Jee Gam has a little group of pupils in our Central school so eager to study the Bible that they often remain an extra hour (from 9:30 to 10:30 P.M.) for instruction from him. One in this group, as deeply interested and as intelligent and constant as any, is a brother to two of our Chinese brethren, but has never himself confessed Christ. Jee Gam wondered at this, and began to inquire into it closely. The young man replied, “My brothers are both Christians. I am the only one left to worship my mother when she dies. It would break her heart if she thought she had not even _one_ son left to worship her.” I confess that as I “took in the situation” I felt the tears starting. What shall we say to such a soul? This led to an item in the experience of Jee Gam himself. “When I left home the last time,” he said, “my father, knowing that I had not joined him in the worship of ancestors, and knowing _why_ I had not, walked with me outside the village, urging me to promise to worship him when he should die.” He appealed not only to Jee Gam’s affection but to his fears. “‘If you do not worship me,’ he said, ‘my ghost shall pursue you and punish you.’ I could not so pain him as to say that I would not worship him, and I could not say that I would worship him, and so, I said over and over again, ‘I will do what is right.’ And these were the last words I ever said to my father: ‘Father, I will do what is right.’”

A few days ago Rev. D. D. Jones, formerly laboring as a missionary in South China, was speaking to me of one of the members of our Church who succumbed to the pressure brought to bear upon him at his marriage in China, and bowed to the idols. Immediately afterwards, deeply penitent, he went to the chapel in some neighboring village, where Mr. Jones was just then preaching, and confessed his fault. “I was not afraid of what they threatened to do to me, but when they began to persecute my mother I could not bear it.”

The case which has most deeply interested me and called forth my earnest prayer is that of a Chinese physician in Marysville. I made his acquaintance about two weeks ago, on my recent visit to that mission. He has attended our school for more than a year, and is one of the most faithful of the pupils. He shrinks from no service by which he can help on the work. He is well read in Chinese--perhaps beyond any of our brethren, and is regarded as specially skillful as a surgeon after the Chinese ways. He is a very substantial looking man, with a fine head, a pleasant face, and a demeanor marked at once by modesty and strength. He is greatly interested in the study of the Bible, and, but for one hindrance, would doubtless be a member of the Association, and would, perhaps, have presented himself for baptism. I sat down by his side and asked him what he thought of Jesus. “I believe in Jesus Christ,” was his emphatic reply. “But how much do you believe in him?” I asked, and then proceeded to illustrate real faith by the confidence which he would wish his patients to repose in him--a confidence which would lead them to abide implicitly by all his directions. “I believe in Jesus Christ just as I would wish my patients to believe in me,” was his reply. “What, then, is in the way of your becoming an avowed and active Christian?” He turned to our helper, Loo Quong, and talked to him at length in Chinese. Loo Quong interpreted to me. “It is the woman,” he said. This woman he had pitied as she told him of the abuse she suffered at a brothel in San Francisco, and he had bought her from her mistress for $500. Quite in accordance with the dictates of Chinese morality, he had made her a sort of American wife. That is to say, he had his wife and son in China, and this woman was to be, after a sort, his wife in America. This he now understood to be inconsistent with Christian character; but what was he to do? I dare say he was divided in mind somewhat over the $500. He could scarcely afford to lose it altogether, and I blush to say that he could doubtless realize the full amount by selling her. But all questions of pecuniary loss or gain apart, what shall he do? To drop her is to let her fall into a life of prostitution--almost to _doom_ her to it. He might send her to one of our Mission Homes for Women, but she is not disposed to go. Four or five years--as I understand it--they have lived together, and while, so far as his own comfort or pleasure is concerned, I believe he would give her up, would it be right thus to dispose of her? It is a knot not easily untied, a tangle not easily cleared. I have thought that there might come to him such an ‘unction from the Holy One,’ such an ‘abundant entrance into the Kingdom,’ such a clear and uplifting conversion as would resolve all doubts and show a straight path before him. If this might be so, it seems to me that he would become a worker in our missionary field such as we greatly need: a reaper whose abundant sheaves would be gathered into everlasting life. Pray for it with us.

* * * * *

BUREAU OF WOMAN’S WORK.

MISS D. E. EMERSON, SECRETARY.

* * * * *

EXPERIENCE OF AN A. M. A. STUDENT TEACHER.

My first time to teach came last September, when I was formally introduced to my work in the Practice School. I was allowed to go to the school one morning as a visitor, that I might get the general plan of conducting the classes, and, if I must say it, I dreaded the beginning more than ever. The second day found me at my post, determined to do my best. I was delighted with my apparent success that afternoon, but prejudice compelled me to keep still about it.

My surprise was greatest when I was told that I must prepare these lessons before teaching them, just as much as I did my own lessons. Each day the classes were more interesting and pleasing, every scholar doing his best work, not because he was obliged to, but for the simple reason that his teacher as she went along, instilled the love of study in his mind. This teacher had me prepare each lesson separately, giving her opinions and suggestions and asking me how I would teach it.

Days and weeks went by rapidly; each day found me more interested, each night found me more willing to go over the lessons with the teacher. I would not have you think that I taught only one or two studies, for before my time expired I had taught every class in the school. I remembered that when I went to school as a child I was always glad to have my teacher lay aside the text-book and tell us something of interest about each city and river in geography or about some particular story in the reading lesson, so I endeavored to have a story or interesting fact for each class, that they might be the more interested and also might remember the particular points. I found out that it is the teacher’s duty to answer sharp questions as well as ask them, for, in my physiology class especially, some of the toughest questions I ever heard were put to me by those bright children.

My geography classes were nearly wild with excitement; sometimes we would take sea voyages, and again we would find the homes of different peoples and animals. Geography can be made a pleasant, interesting and helpful study, and that is what I tried to make it. Soon my six weeks had gone, and with reluctance I bade the dear little scholars good-by. I think that I made happy and lasting impressions on some of the children, as recent rumors have added to my stock of conceit.

About a week after my time of teaching had expired I had a new experience; the teacher falling ill I was called upon to take her place. Elated with my past success and burning with a desire to teach a whole day by myself, I armed myself with a schedule of classes, the bunch of keys and proceeded to the school house. Most of the pupils seemed glad to have me there, but I could see well enough that their teacher came first in their estimation. Devotional exercises over, I announced that their teacher was ill and that I hoped they would be good for _her_ sake; then the lessons commenced. I found it quite different from having to do with only one particular class, to hear one class in the back part of the room and keep an eye on three dozen curly haired witches in the other part of the room. Oh! how slowly the time went, how my temper waxed warmer as I noticed the various tricks and pranks. But something kept whispering, “How often have _you_ made faces at your teachers, thrown paper and made noises?” so I kept down the sharp words that continually came up, and tried to smile as I gently admonished the giggling offender.

As it was a rainy day I took ten minutes from the recess and let the children write a letter to their sick teacher. When the teacher read them over with me, you would have laughed could you have seen some of them. In some I was spoken of quite highly but in others I was reported as doing not so well as their own dear teacher. Some letters were composed of straight lines, as the very little folks also deemed it necessary to write to her.

After all there is an indefinable charm for me in teaching, and I mean to go on. Every night and morn I asked God’s help, and through him I accomplished what I have. I can say that my practice teaching was a source of pleasure and help to me.

* * * * *

FOR THE CHILDREN.

* * * * *

MRS. TUCKERS’ CONVERSION.

It was Saturday afternoon, and Mrs. Tucker was very tired. Life was hard at best, only a tedious routine of wearisome duties; but on this particular afternoon, the closing of the week’s work pressed very heavily upon her.

“Oh, Mrs. Tucker, can Sallie go with us to the mission band?”

Mrs. Tucker raised her eyes, and saw, standing in the doorway, two little girls.

“Mission band! I’d like to know what’s a mission band?” she demanded sharply.

“Why,” spoke out the bolder of the two; “it’s lot of us children all together, working and sewing for poor folks. We bring our pennies to Miss May for them, and she says it’s giving to Jesus. We have just the nicest time; do let her go.”

“Oh, mother,” and Sallie’s brown eyes looked appealingly into her mother’s face; “please say I may--do let me.”

Mrs. Tucker slowly folded the garment she had ironed, and hung it in its place before she answered.

“No, she can’t. I can give her all the sewing she wants to home, and we’ve got nothing to give the Lord; he don’t give to us. So go along, and tell Miss May that Sallie Tucker’s better set to work.”

When Mrs. Tucker, the hard day’s work at last completed, toiled wearily up stairs, she found her little daughter seated upon the top stair, while about her on the floor, were scattered all her childish treasures.

“What on earth, child,” exclaimed her mother, “is all this clutter for? What are you trying to do?”

“Why, mother,” chirruped the sweet child’s voice; “I am looking to find something to give to Jesus.”

“Give to Jesus! What do you think the Lord wants of such stuff as this?”

“But, mother,” she explained, and her voice grew unsteady, and the bright eyes filled with tears, “my teacher said anything we give to him, he would like it; and if we gave what we loved best, it pleased him most. And this is what I love most--my wax doll and my birthday book. Won’t he take it, mother? Can’t I give him anything?”

“Sallie Tucker!” and her mother’s voice was cold and stern, “you just put this notion out of your head. You don’t know what giving to the Lord means. Put this trash away. When the Lord remembers us with some of his plenty, ’twill be time enough to give to him, I reckon.”

It was the afternoon for the Woman’s Quarterly Missionary Meeting, in the Shadyville Baptist church. Mrs. Gray, the minister’s wife, came to the vestry with a sad heart. She knew too well the character of these gatherings. A few ladies came together, in a listless, apathetic way, a few lifeless prayers were offered, a little business disposed of, and the ladies went to their homes wondering why there wasn’t more interest in missions. Mrs. Tucker wasn’t in the habit of attending the missionary meeting, so when she came into one this afternoon, the ladies present looked at each other in surprise. Mrs. Gray read the psalm and offered prayer, and then came the usual dead silence.

Presently Mrs. Tucker rose to her feet, and, in a voice shaken with emotion, said:--

“I s’pose you’re all astonished to see me here, but the truth of the matter is, I’ve got something to say to you, which can’t half be told in words, neither. You all know my little Sallie has been sick; but I don’t s’pose none of you know what that sickness has been to me. You see the children wanted her to go to the mission band, but I was tough and cranky, and dead set ag’in’ anything of the kind, and told her, in the crossest way, she couldn’t go. She’d heard somethin’ about giving to Jesus, and laid out her best doll and book; an’ I laughed at it, an’ told her the Lord didn’t want her trash. Well, she took sick, an’ got sicker an’ sicker, till my heart stood still with the fear o’ losing her. She was out of her head, you know; and every time I come near the bed, she’d start right up an’ say, ‘Oh, can’t I give him anything? Don’t he want my dolly? O mother, mother can’t I go?’ till I just thought my heart would break in two. Everywhere I looked, I could see her eyes, with such a beseechin’ look in ’em, and hear her voice callin’, ‘Mother, mother, can’t I give _anything_?’ till at last I went down on my knees, all broke up like, and I sez:--

“‘Lord, I’m a poor, ungrateful sinner, and I’ve been a-withholding from you all these years; but if there’s anythin’ I can give you, won’t you please take it? Even my little girl, and everything I’ve got I just lay down.’