'March 16, 1887.

'My dear Father,—Some explanation is due to you of the order to pay the London Missionary Society 100l. of my money as a contribution to their funds.

'The money that I have in the bank is the result of long and, much of it, of self-denying savings on my part and the part of my late wife—more on hers than mine, perhaps. When she died, and I was going off to this remote and isolated field, it was a comfort to me to think that in the event of my death there was a little sum laid past which would help my sons to get an education. I have added to that sum all I could from my house-furniture sale, &c., and it has reached a good figure—the exact sum I cannot yet tell—I have not yet had your account for 1886.

'Some time ago God seemed to say, "Entrust that money to My keeping!" and, as days went on, the command seemed to get more loud and be ever present, so much so that finally I could not read my Bible for it or pray. I had no resource left but to obey; I did not like to give it up; but finally it has appeared to me that God is only keeping the funds for the lads and that He will arrange for them to have them all right when they are needed. How He can do this I need not ask. He may, for instance, keep me alive for the sake of the lads. In one sense it seems an unwise thing not to be laying up something for the children's education; but that is only one side of it. God seems to ask me to trust Him with my children, and I trust Him with them. They are far from my care and control, and I know such painful cases of the children of missionaries growing up unbelievers that I dare not do anything that seems to me not to be putting them fully into God's care and up-bringing.

'In addition, I am exhorting people here to become Christians, by doing which they throw themselves and their children outside of the community. I tell them to do it, and trust God's protecting them in troubles and helping them in difficulties; and I can hardly do that if I have not faith in God myself for me and mine.

'Again, I need God's help and blessing much in my work here, and I do not seem to myself to be able to expect it if I do not trust Him. So please regard the money removed as not lost, only put into a safer bank.'

The following letter, also dealing with money matters from the Christian point of view, is so striking in many ways that it has been deemed advisable to quote it in extenso:—

'Ch'ao Yang, Mongolia: May 6, 1888.

'My dear Father,—Enclosed please find some directions about the disposal of my money. These arrangements are so contrary to my previous arrangements that some explanation is due to you and to my brothers. Here they are.

'In my mission work out here I am much thrown upon God. The field is a very hard one. The superstitions are like towns walled up to heaven. The power of man avails nothing against them. As far as man is concerned I am almost alone. I turn to God. I hear the words, "Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit," saith the Lord. I trust Him. I call upon Him. I commune with Him. He comes near me. I ask Him to convert men. There are conversions, a few true, as far as I can judge. But there seems some barrier between God and me to a certain extent. Thinking round to see what it can be, I hear a voice saying, "Can't you trust Me with the money you have laid up for your children?" I think over it I pray over it. I say, "I may die and the boys need the money." God replies, "If you trust Me with it, don't you think I'd give them it as they needed?" I say, "But my father and brothers might not see it so, and might not like the idea of destitute orphan children on their hands." God replies, "With Me for their banker children are not destitute, and if you prefer father and brothers before Me, you are not worthy of Me." Then I say, "What will you have me do?" God says, "Give Me the money; I'll see they have all that is necessary." I dare not disobey. I don't want to disobey. I am so much exercised over the spiritual well-being of the boys, that I gladly do anything that will make them in any sense more specially proteges of God. I am alarmed at the fate of some missionaries' children who have not turned out godly men. Preserve the boys from this!

'This is no sudden resolution. I have thought and prayed much over it. I can delay this step no longer without feeling I would be refusing to follow God's guidance. I feel, too, that God has so many ways in which He can bless the lads and me, that in making this arrangement I am running no risk. The only thing I am not quite clear about is the detailed disposition of the money. Meantime, it seems to me that I can best use it for God in this mission here. I mean to bank it in Peking, in the first instance, and use it for renting or buying premises.

'As to the general principle of having money for ourselves or children, I do not think God asks us all to put all we may have or get thus in His keeping, or asks me even to put all into His keeping in this especial manner. You know the money was originally saved from the salary given by the mission, and in this sense is peculiar. Money that I had earned by trade, or otherwise come by, I do not think God would ask me to dispose of it so. But His voice seems very plain in this present case.

'My salary I shall still have paid to me, and the children's remittances shall come as usual. If I live I guess this will be enough for the education of the lads. If I die, the lads are not destitute. Even in a worldly sense, and quite apart from this sum which I am banking with God, and which I am sure He'll repay with compound interest when needed, if left orphans they would be in some sense provided for by the London Missionary Society, which, though it gives no pensions to any one, yet yearly raises funds and gives money to broken-down old missionaries, widows, and orphans. I don't suppose it is much or enough, but it is something. I say this that you may not be troubled should your faith be weak or waver.

'I hope that these arrangements may not seem unwise to you, and will commend themselves to you far enough to have your consent if not your warm approval. For myself I am thankful that God has given me faith enough to trust Him so. It has taken time to come to this. Myself is a small matter—it takes more faith to trust for one's children. Just fancy old Abraham offering his Isaac. Just fancy, God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. Let us respond to God's love.

'Your loving son, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'

In compliance with his wish a sum amounting to several hundred pounds was sent out to Peking and there banked by him. Had not the many difficulties which Chinese habits placed in the way prevented the completion of negotiations, there is hardly any doubt that James Gilmour would have himself spent this money on his own mission-field. He died before any of the negotiations for premises which he had commenced reached a successful issue. As he had not specified in his will that this sum was to be devoted to mission work, the trustees of his boys have had no alternative, and have felt it their duty to consider it a part of his estate, the income of which should be devoted to the education of his sons. But the intention of James Gilmour was clear and well known, and it is to be hoped that the interest felt by many friends in his life and work will prove strong enough to secure a permanent home for the mission as a memorial of its founder, and on the site of his glad and self-sacrificing toil.

A year or two later, in a letter to his boys, he seeks to enforce the duty of careful, systematic giving to God.

'Ch'ao Yang: August 19, 1890.

'I wonder if you are giving a tenth of all the money you get to God. I think it is a right thing to do and a good thing. Mamma did it: I do it: and God never let us want for money. I would be glad if you would like to do it. But don't do it merely to please me. Don't do it except you can do it gladly. God likes people to do things gladly. I am quite sure you would get blessing by it. Money given to God is never lost. And it is easier to begin the habit now than later.

'When you give it to God you can put it into the London Missionary Society box; it would only be fair to give some little part of it at the collection at the church to which you go. You could give some of it for destitute children. It does not matter much where you give it. I think the London Missionary Society has the best claim. Think over it, boys. Jesus died to save us: surely we can show our gratitude by giving Him some of our money?'

Later letters to his father outline for us his religious experience, and enable us to realise something of the spiritual experience of these years.

'Ch'ao Yang: March 29, 1887.

'I am wondering how you all are. God has been drawing me nearer to Him these last weeks, and I am living in the hope that He will bless me and my work largely some day. There is much ignorance to be removed, much suspicion, much misunderstanding of me as a foreigner, and I am hammering away as hard as I can. There are mountains of difficulty to be removed, but I am trusting in God to remove them, and these last days I have had much peace and joy in my heart thinking of God's love to me and the salvation of Jesus. I have no doubt at all about my being His, and sometimes the great hope is almost too much to realise. But I am often at the same time downcast that I cannot see more people here converted, and I think that, if God has a favour to me and delights in me, He can well move the hearts of these people to believe in His Son, and choose out people to come and help me in my work. I am sometimes lonely here, and wish I had a friend to talk to and tell all my troubles, and then I think that Jesus is such a friend, and so I tell Him all my griefs; but I would like to have a colleague.

'I hope, my dear father, that your heart is contented and happy in Jesus. Only let Him arrange all things for you as regards your soul, and He'll do it all right. He can be trusted. Heaven is not far away; we'll soon be there; comfort your heart. Won't it be too blessed to be again with our wives, freed from all that is earthly, and suffering, and surrounded by nothing but what is nice! This is no dream: it is real; it is true; it is kept for us; it will be ours. We'll see it soon; you and I will be there together. It may be some time before we are there together; but years soon pass. Cheer up, my father!

'We miss much by not living near to Jesus—taking Him at His word and expecting that He'll do all we need done for us both in saving us and in making our hearts good. Jesus is real and heaven is real, and our share in heaven, if we trust and follow Jesus, is real. You say you are busy: so am I. You have cares: so have I. Go ahead and look after your work and business; but you'll do it all the better that your heart is at peace with God and at rest in Jesus. I find that the closer I am to Jesus the better I can meet and bear all troubles, trials, and difficulties, and you will find the same true if you try.

'I feel quite lifted up to-night. I have a room to myself. This is the first time I have had a room to myself since leaving Peking January 25. It is pleasant to be private a little. This room is private to me alone only after (say) 8 P.M., when I am left in peace. I hope to have this room for three weeks.

'I am afraid, if you saw the room, you would not think it much of a place. To-night, too, I have a pillow. For over three weeks I have rested my head on some folded-up bag or article of dress: to-night I have a pillow. Christ had not where to lay His head. In all things I am still better off than He was. If I could only see souls saved I would not care for the roughing it.'

In a letter later in the same year to a missionary colleague in a distant field Mr. Gilmour unveils still further his religious history:—

'Mongolia: October 7, 1887.

'Yours of May 31 to hand three or four days ago. The China Inland Mission has a lot of good men in it. It does a good work. It is warm-hearted devotion that wins souls and gets God's approval. My experience has been different from yours, happily. All along I have gone on the "headlong for Christ" way of things here, even when preaching to the most intellectual English and American audiences, and they have received me royally. Man, God has waked me up these last years to such an extent that I feel a different man. I sometimes wonder now if I was converted before. I suppose I was, but the life was a cold, dull one. Just the other day Jesus, so to speak, put out His hand and touched me as I was reading a hymn, something about desiring spiritual things and passing by Jesus Himself. I wanted His blessing more than I wanted Him. That is not right. Lately, too, I have become calm. Before I worked, oh so hard and so much, and asked God to bless my work. Now I try to pray more and get more blessing, and then work enough to let the blessing find its way through me to men. And this is the better way. It is the right way. And I work a lot even now. Perhaps as much as before; but I don't worry at the things I cannot overtake. I feel, too, more than I did, that God is guiding me. Oh! sometimes the peace of God flows over me like a river. Then it is so blessed, heaven is real. So is God: so is Jesus. Our lot is a great one.

'Try not to fly around so much: take more time with God. Be more in private prayer with Him, and see if He will not give you a greater spiritual blessing for your people. After all, the great want, as I gather from your letters, is the spiritual blessing on the people. Ask it, man, and you'll get it. God's promises are sure. I am trying to combine the China Inland Mission, the Salvation Army, and the L.M.S. I have a great district, and a hard one, all to myself. There is said to be a young doctor on his way out to me. I am writing by this mail for three young laymen. Non-smoking and teetotalism are conditions of Church membership. I have seen no foreigner since January 25, and am not likely to see one till December 5. My mails take an enormous time to reach me, and two sent in June and July from Peking (eight days off) have never come to hand at all. I am baffled, battered and bruised in soul in many ways, but, thank God, holding on and believing that He is going to bless me.

'Eh, man, never talk of not going back. Go back, though you can only do half work; go back, and work less and pray more. That is what you need. I have been a vegetarian for over a year. I find fasting helpful to prayer. Two books by Andrew Murray, Wellington, Cape Town—Abide in Christ, With Christ in the School of Prayer—have done me much good. May blessings be on your dear wife and children! Yours, hoping to have a good long holiday with you in heaven,

'JAMES GILMOUR.'

Some years earlier in his career he had written a letter of brotherly remonstrance to one who, in a moment of depression and without any adequate cause, felt himself slighted. The same spirit breathes through both, but is richer and fuller in the later letter. God had been teaching James Gilmour in a hard, but a fruitful school.

'I know of your zeal in working at home as well as abroad, and I am greatly grieved to find you think you are badly treated. I think it is very unfortunate that any agent should have that feeling about his Society, L.M.S. or other. I am alarmed, too, my dear fellow, to find you express yourself so strongly. It is hardly the thing. Would Christ have said that? I do hope you will pardon my speaking so, but you know sometimes a rash word does more harm than a deed even. And I am anxious that you should have a peaceful mind. I know your value, and wish to see you nearly perfect. Let me remind you of a thing we both believe, and a thought I have often been comforted by. Jesus has suffered even more for us than we can ever suffer for Him, and what you do in raising funds and endeavouring is done, not for L.M.S., but for Him, for Him, and He sees and knows and won't forget, but sympathises and appreciates, and at the end will speak up straight and open for His true men. I often lug portmanteaus, walk afoot, and, as the Chinese say, "eat bitterness," in China and in England. I am not thanked for it, but He knows. No danger of being overlooked. Now, don't be "huffed" at my lecturing you, and don't think I must think a lot of myself to suppose that I am running up a bill of merit, like a Buddhist, and think I am Jesus's creditor. My dear fellow, you know better than that. I point out to you and remind you of the only way I know to be persistently useful, and at the same time happy.'

But of all the relationships of life—son, brother, friend, ambassador for Christ—that which most naturally, most profoundly, and most beautifully reveals his very heart is when he writes as the loving father to his distant motherless boys. A large number of his letters to them have been entrusted to the hands of his biographer. Many of them touch upon subjects too sacred for publication. They deal with those closest of earthly ties in which not even intimate friends can legitimately claim a share. But it was felt that they reveal a side of his nature and character that ought not to be entirely hidden in any picture of his life. For this reason a somewhat extensive selection has been made from this tender and helpful correspondence. When it first began the lads were too young to read the letters themselves, but he wrote long accounts of his work to be read to them, and it is pleasant to see how keen his eye became in noting such things as were likely to amuse them and to arrest their attention. Some of the letters are written in big letters resembling printed capitals. The brief, childlike letters that were sent to him by them were bound up into a paper volume, which he carried about with him during his Mongolian wanderings, and in looking them over he found an unfailing solace and refreshment. He often illustrated his own letters to them by rough but effective sketches of persons and things which he saw. The death of their mother had brought the lads and their father very near to one another, and although lost to sight, they always thought and spoke of the dear one who had gone as still of the family, as in perfect happiness, and waiting only God's time to reunite them in the happy life of heaven.

When it was decided to entrust them to the care of an uncle in Scotland, Mr. Gilmour set out the desires he cherished with regard to their training. It is only to be regretted that similar plans are not formed and acted upon in the training of all children.

'The laddies are here with me now, and I am both father and mother to them. To-night I darned three stockings for them when they went to bed. You see I have been away two months, and in a week or two I may have to part from them for ten years, so I am having a little leisure time with them. I sometimes do feel real bad at the idea of the two orphan lads going away so far; but then the promise of Christ that no one leaves parents or children for His sake, without being repaid manifold, comforts me by making me believe that God will raise up friends to comfort them wherever they may be.

'Cheer up! The two worlds are one, and not far separate. Mrs. Prankard, I hear, won't have Emily's name mentioned. We here go on the other tack, and the children are all day long talking about what mamma did and said, and adventures we had together. And why not? The tears come sometimes: let them, they do no harm, are a relief more than anything, and the time is coming when God will wipe away all tears from our eyes.

'I wish them to be Christ's from their youth up. I wish them to get a good thorough education, not too expensive, to be able to read, write, and spell well. Should either of them turn out likely, I might be able to let both, or that one have a college education, but I don't want either of them to go there if they don't show adaptation for it.

'What I want of you is something money cannot buy, motherly and fatherly care in Christ for the desolate lads, whose whole life in time and eternity too may largely depend on how they are trained and treated during the next few years. I am not rich, but I can support my boys. This Christian care and love, however, is what is not to be had for money, so I beg it.

'I had five hours' conversation with one Chinaman at a stretch the other day. I think he was not far from the kingdom of God at first, and I believe he is nearer now. All these things take time, and I am most anxious to be with the children much these last days. Oh, it is hard to think of them going off over the world in that motherless fashion! We were at mamma's grave yesterday for the first time since September 21. We sang "There is a land that is fairer than day," in Chinese, and also a Chinese hymn we have here with a chorus, which says, "We'll soon go and see them in our heavenly home," and in English, "There is a happy land." The children and I have no reluctance in speaking of mamma, and we don't think of her as here or buried, but as in a fine place, happy and well.'

Here are a few short extracts from the earlier letters:—

'Cheer up, my dear sonnies! We shall see each other some day yet. Tell all your troubles to Jesus, and let Him be your friend. I, out here, think often of mamma and her nice face, and how good she was to you and to me. You will not forget her. She sees you every day, and is so pleased when you are good lads. We'll all go some day and be with her, won't that be good? Meantime, Jesus is taking care of her, and will take care of us.

'Sometimes, when I am writing a letter to you, and come to the foot of a page, and want to turn over the leaf, I don't take blotting paper and blot it, but kneel down and pray while it is drying.

'I am going away, too, in a few days; then I'll have no one but Chinese to speak to. Never mind, I'll just tell Jesus all my affairs; I cannot go away from Him. He is never too busy to talk to me. Just you, too, tell Jesus all your troubles. He sees both you and me.'

From the longer letters we select three or four, and give them exactly as they were written. From them the character of many others, from which only brief extracts can be taken, may be judged.

'Ch'ao Yang: April 10, 1887.

'My dear Sons,—I am well and thankful for it. I am getting on well too, thank God. I have had terrible weather lately though. Daily I have my tent—it is only a cloth roof on six bamboo poles—put up in the market-place. We have had three days' wind. Eh, man, the first day the dust was terrible. But I had lots of patients and remained out all day. At last we had to take down our tent. It could not stand. The tent was carried to the inn, but we remained with our table till evening. You would hardly have known us for dust. But patients came all the time. Next day the tent was blown down twice. Once a man's head got such a smack with the bamboo tent pole, but he said nothing and took it quite pleasantly. A peep-show man near us got his show blown down and scattered about. He gathered it up and went home to his inn.



'I am so glad that the people like us and trust us and come about us for medicines. Women came too. Boys came too. Just now the school boys have holiday for the fair, and they stand for a long time together looking at me doctoring the people. What the boys like to see is a glass bottle of eye medicine which I bring out and set up. Then I dip a glass tube in and press an india-rubber bulb. The air comes out in the water in bubbles and rises up to the surface, and the boys are so delighted to see it bubbling. They will wait a long time and like to see it ever so often. They are sometimes troublesome, then I send them away. When they are good I shove the glass tube deep down into the bottle, and they are so delighted to see the air bubbling up from the bottom.

'When a man comes to have a tooth pulled even the men are delighted, and advise him to have it out. They want to see the fun. Mothers send their little boys for medicine, and I am so pleased with some of the little lads. They are so modest and so polite, making a deep bow as they go away. Always be modest and polite, my sons, and people will love you and treat you well.

'The boys buy a lot of books too, and I preach to them earnestly, because in ten years to come they will be men, and if they know about Jesus now they may more easily become Christians some day soon. You, Jimmie, know Jesus; does Willie? Teach him. Mamma is not here to teach him, and I am far away. You are his big brother. Teach you him like a good laddie as you are.

'The other day when I was preaching a man was standing behind me with a little black pig under his arm. He wanted to hear me preach, but the pig would not be quiet. He held its mouth shut, but the little pig would still manage to give a squeak now and again. At last it would not be quiet at all, and he had to go away with it. I could not help smiling at him. There is an old man here in my inn. He is owner of the inn. His son manages the inn. The old man is not very old. He is about sixty-five. But he used to be a great opium smoker. A year or more ago he had a very serious illness and gave up his opium, but he had wrecked his health by his smoking. He cannot now live many months. He can hardly speak plainly now. He comes to see me in my room, and I try to tell him about Jesus, hoping that he may be saved. He listens, but he is not very bright in his mind. I hope he may pray to Jesus.

'The other day I had to pull my own tooth. It was the back tooth and had been painful for days. There was no one who could do it for me, so I sat down with a little Chinese looking-glass before a candle, got a good hold of it with the forceps, and after a good deal of wrenching out it came. He was a deep-pronged fellow, and he did bleed. I was so thankful that God helped me to get it out. I can sleep now all right.

'Our Mongol donkeyman wants to be a Christian. I hope he is sincere, but he is very slow and dull at learning. There are three other men here who are learning about Jesus too, but it is too early yet to say much about them. A good many people learn some, then stop. But it is late and I must go to bed, else I won't be able to preach and doctor all day in the market-place at the fair to-morrow.

'Praying that God may bless you, my sons, and sending you much love,

'I am your affectionate Father, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'

'Ta Cheng Tzŭ: Sept. 3, 1887.

'My dear Sons,—I am well, and thankful for it. The three Christians here come daily to evening worship. There are here others who want to be Christians, but who have not courage enough. One man's wife won't let him be a Christian; she says she will kill herself if he does. Another man is in the same case. He is a Chinaman, his wife is a Mongol. Still another man has a Mongol wife, and she kept him back. The other day he came and confessed Christianity. His wife does not consent, only says: "We'll see." Another man's father hinders his son from Christianity. The lad is a very nice lad.

'Yesterday was the day when people make offerings of food and fruit at the graves. One of the Christians was sent to do so. He brought the melon here, and we ate half of it with him.

'Still another man is forbidden by his father to be a Christian. That is, in all, five men are Christians at heart, and read our books and are learning Christianity, but do not confess Christ in this one place. Do you know what Jesus says about such people (Matt. x. 32-39)? Jesus says that, if they obey others rather than Him, they are not worthy to be His disciples. I am praying for all these people. I ask you, too, to pray for these and all like them, that they may be able to confess Christ. It is difficult for men in China to be Christians. How different with you! We all want you to be Christians. Your father and friends all help you to be Christians, and if you are not Christians we are all distressed.

'Boys, do be true to Jesus. In your words and deeds honour Him. Make His heart glad. Jesus wants your love. He loves you and died for you. You cannot but love Him if you think how He loves you. Good-bye. Meantime I am just going to breakfast, and then for a day on the street, trying to tell the people about Jesus. God bless you, my dear lads!

'It is now afternoon. I write a few lines. A lad in a shop here has a tame dove. He has painted it all over different colours. It looks absurd. I don't like to see it sitting about the shop. Doves look so happy flying about. Mamma, too, liked to see birds on the trees and houses wild, not kept in cages.

'I guess you are just about getting your breakfast. Here it is about 4 P.M. With you it should be 8 A.M. Saturday; I wish I could see you. My love to you, my dear sons. May you always, both now and when grown, be boys and men that know and love Jesus! I pray for you. Your loving father,

'JAMES GILMOUR.'

In August 1884 a third son was given to Mr. and Mrs. Gilmour, whom they named Alexander. In 1887 spinal trouble developed, and in December of that year he died. 'Though often ill,' wrote his father when announcing the death to the uncle after whom he had been named, 'his life was a happy one. It is now happier than ever. Thanks be to God that there is, and that we know that there is, a bright and happy life beyond. Let us make that the great meeting-place for ourselves and our children and friends. May it stand before us as a joy! As ever and anon one and another goes there, may we feel that we have more and more interest there! Let us live looking to the joy set before us!' This baby-brother is the Alick referred to in the following letter:—

'Ta Cheng Tzŭ, Mongolia: February 11, 1888.

'My dear Sons,—I am well, and thankful for it. I got here two days ago. I had such a cold time of it on the road! I never felt the cold so much before.

'People here are very busy. This is the last day of the Chinese year.

'To-morrow is the first day of the Chinese year. Everybody is buying all sorts of food, because the shops do not open for some days after the new year. They are very busy, too, scraping off the old papers at the sides of their doors and pasting up new papers. They (the papers) are red, and look fine at first with the great black Chinese characters written on them. But the sun after a while takes the colour out of them.

'They are busy, too, pasting up the new gods in their houses. They (the gods) are sheets of paper with pictures of gods on them. Every house has a god of the kitchen. They send him to heaven, as they think, by burning him. They burnt the old one last Saturday. They are putting up the new one now. They think that when he is burnt he goes to heaven and reports to a god what he has seen in the house during the year. I ask them if I burnt them would they think they were going to heaven? They buy sticky sugar-cakes to give him so that he may be pleased, and not tell on them for doing evil things. They think, too, that the sugar sticks his lips together, so that when he wants to tell on them he can't get his mouth open! Isn't it all very silly and very sad? The shopkeepers, too, paste up a "god of riches," thinking that thus they will become rich!

'To-morrow (Sunday) I hope to baptize a man. He is a Chinaman. That will make four Christians here. They all have faults and weaknesses, and I am not very easy in my mind about them. Pray that God may make them better and make them grow in grace. Pray, too, that God may convert more of the people. Pray, too, that God may give us a house of our own to live in. People here are afraid to let us have a house. Now that Dr. Roberts is coming, we will need a house. He is coming in six or seven weeks. Then he stays two months, and goes back to Tientsin for a while again. We saw the Christian at Ta Ssŭ Kou as we passed. The Ch'ao Yang man we have not seen yet.

'I have made all your letters to me into a book, and have them with me. Your letters are nice to read, and show great improvement in the writing. I am going to keep all your letters this year too and bind them. You may like to see them when you grow big. The last letter from you is dated October 27.

'My dear sons, I think of you often and pray for you much.

'You have a photo of mamma's grave. Little Alick's little mound is close to mamma's, on the side nearer little Edie's. Mamma's and Alick's coffins touch down below. They lie together. But mamma and Alick are not there. They are in heaven, with its golden streets and its beautiful river, and its trees of life, and its beautiful gates, and its good, loving, kind people, and Jesus and God. They are having such a nice time of it there!

'My boys, don't be afraid of dying. Pray to Jesus, do the things He likes, and if you die you will go to Him, to His fine place, where you'll have everything that is nice and good. I don't know whether you or I will go there first, but I hope that by-and-by we'll all be there, mamma and Alick and all. I like to think of this. Meantime let us be doing for Jesus all we can, telling people about Him and trying to persuade them to be His people. Are your schoolfellows Jesus' boys? Do you ever tell them of Him? Tell them, my dear sons.

'I hope to get letters from you in about a month.

'Good-bye, my dear boys.

'May you be good and diligent, and then you'll be happy. Jesus can make you glad.

'Your loving Father, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'

Mrs. Meech had shown much motherly kindness to her little nephew Alexander, and only a few months after he had died she herself lost a little son. Mr. Gilmour, on hearing the sad tidings, wrote to her as follows:—

'Mongolia: March 25, 1888.

'My dear Mrs. Meech,—Many congratulations and condolences with you. Your little son has gone to Emily. She'll look after the little man as you looked after her little man. Just fancy! we have family connections in heaven not a few, and ever increasing. I hope you are now getting better and going on all right.

'I am much cheered by the good news of soul movements in the West Mission. May they continue and increase!

'With many prayers for you all, and kept in constant remembrance of you all by the date block,

'Yours in loving sympathy, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'

'May 30, 1888.

'I am doctoring a little homeless lad's head here. I put on ointment all over it to-day. He cried. I said I had medicine that would stop the pain, and brought out six cash—one farthing—and told him to go and have a bowl of buckwheat meal strings. All laughed, he stopped crying, and did not seem to feel the pain after that. Most of the people in the town are much impressed with the improvement in the boy's head. Before he came to me I saw a Chinese medicine-man poking at the lad's head with a straw. When he came I rubbed on ointment with my finger. The bystanders were much pleased to see I was not averse to touching the poor dirty lad's sore head. Jesus touched a leper, and I like to do things like what Jesus would do. That is the right way, boys. Always think what Jesus would have done, and do like Him.'

'Mongolia: Sept. 9, 1888.

'My dear Sons,—I am out on a journey. I knew letters were being sent me, and hoped to meet them. A long way off I saw a red umbrella, the sun shining through the oilcloth. The thought passed through my mind, "Can that be the messenger?" But I forgot all about it, reading a book as I walked along. All at once I heard, "He's come," and looking up, saw the red umbrella close at hand. It was him. The messenger returns to-morrow. I had had no letters for eighty days.

'I wrote you last on August 2. Since then several men have professed Christ, and one man has been baptized.

'One of the Christians at Ta Cheng Tzŭ stole my bankbook and drew money of mine, amounting to about 3l. He says he is penitent, and we have put him on a year's probation to see how he does. He is a lazy man. Long ago I said, "If you are lazy, some day the devil will make you a sinner," and so he did. Had he been a diligent man he would not have been poor and would not have stolen. Diligence is a good thing, laziness is a bad thing. A good Christian cannot be lazy, because he knows Jesus does not like lazy people. I may write you again in a few days. Hoping next mail to get a letter from you (there was none this mail), and asking God to bless you in everything, and guide you in all your life,

'I am your loving Father, 'JAMES GILMOUR'

'Ch'ao Yang, Mongolia: Saturday, November 17, 1888.

'My dear Sons,—On the street to-day I saw a crowd standing. I went up to see what they were looking at, and found two Chinese gentlemen showing off a trained bird. One of the men stood down on the street. The other put three little flags so that they stuck on the wall. The bird then flew away, caught up a flag, and came flying back to its master in the street, carrying the flag in its bill. It looked very clever. Every time the bird brought a flag it was rewarded by being fed with some nice food which it liked. It was very pretty to see it. But after all it was a very trifling employment for two grown gentlemen to be engaged in. Even the crowd of ordinary Chinese seemed to think so.

'I don't like to see birds in captivity. It is pretty to see them wild flying about, and to hear them singing, but I pity them in cages, and tied by string as the Chinese are fond of doing with them. When I see birds tied I often think of mamma who used so much to like to see them wild.

'I remember one day in Mongolia mamma stopped me from plucking a flower; she said it looked so pretty growing. Another time a beetle flew and alighted somewhere; mamma said, "It is so glad that it is alive, don't hurt it."

'I am a good deal distressed to see the boys in the market-place. They steal just as much as ever they can from the sellers of straw and fuel, pluck out handfuls from the bundles and run away not at all ashamed. If the owner does not chase them they get off with it. If he throws down his load and runs after them they drop the plunder, the owner picks it up, and no more is said about it.

'In summer little naked boys follow people carrying fruit in open baskets and steal it as they can: it all seems so dishonest, and no one seems to care. On the street lots of people will see a thief stealing a man's pipe and never say a word, because it is not their business.'

'I often think of you and pray for you. You do not forget mamma, I am sure. She is with Jesus. Be you His lads, and do your lessons well, and He'll guide you all through life. Be diligent and careful lads, and you'll grow up useful and honoured men. Constantly tell Jesus all your affairs.

'Goodbye meantime, my boys. 'Much love from your affectionate Father, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'



CHAPTER XI

CLOSING LABOURS

James Gilmour remained in Great Britain less than eight months. The society of his boys was a great delight to him. He rejoiced in renewed intercourse with relatives and old friends. His religious convictions and his own spiritual life deepened still more. He went to a considerable number of meetings to speak on missionary work and needs, and he everywhere produced a great impression.

Referring to this visit, and especially to his intercourse with the boys, a near relative writes:—

'It was a time full of interest and pleasure. What a variety of moods, from the frolicsome to the pathetic, he displayed! But evidently his wife's death had laid hold upon his very soul, and there seemed so much more of sadness and tenderness than on his former visit, when he had enjoyed her bright companionship. On one occasion, referring to a medical missionary who had brought his wife home from China hopelessly ill, and who was expecting the end, he said: "Eh, man, he little knows the terrible dark valley he has to come through, and if Christ is not with him he will be undone!" He spoke the words as though he were again going through his own agony, and then added: "But if Christ is with him he will come out of it with victory, and Christ will be dearer. But he has no idea what he has to face, though he thinks he has."

'He had looked forward to spending part of his time with his sons at Millport, where he had spent June and July 1883 with his wife and boys on his former visit. So we went there for a month, and they had a good time boating, and walking, and reviving old memories of the happy home circle. The thought of reunion was always made prominent. The boys must ever remember his earnest efforts to lead their thoughts heavenward, and they do think of heaven as a very real place.

'While at Millport he spent several nights in pasting up texts on every place likely to catch the eye; on stones and gateways and fences all round the island. He felt he must work while time was granted to him. I had noticed him making paste, but thought nothing of it. I had heard the sound of a softly closing door at midnight, but thought it must be fancy. It had gone to my heart to feel his icy cold hand when he gave me his morning greeting. I noticed the little texts pasted up, but never thought of them as his work till the next day, when he began to make more paste, and then the whole thing came to me like a flash. I begged him with tears not to go out in the cold night air, and said that I knew God would rather have him stay in his warm comfortable bed and get well and strong. He answered so kindly: "Sister, it pains me to grieve you." But he finished his work nevertheless.

'He was always wonderfully considerate, and grateful for any attention. Sometimes, when he saw me unusually tired, he would go and get an extra pillow and make me rest on the sofa, or when we came to the table he would place me in a comfortable chair and pour out the tea himself, or he would say: "Sister, take a cup yourself first, then you will be able to help us."

'On the day before he left us to return to China he really said his farewell. We had finished dinner, and when he went out he stood and looked in through the window at the happy faces still around the table. He threw a kiss, and then his feelings overcame him, his lip quivered, the tears came to his eyes, and he hastened away. Later in the day, when I was speaking hopefully of seeing him again, he answered: "I shall see your face no more."

'I know he felt very much giving up the comforts of civilised life, but he set his face to it. It touched me much the last evening he was with us, when, after I had to remind him two or three times of some business it was needful for him to attend to before he would go, he said: "I can hardly drag myself away from this bright cosy scene."

'His was a rarely sensitive soul. It pained him to hear any one speaking evil of another. I have seen him turn deadly pale when he has heard any one impute a wrong motive. He longed for more of the spirit of Christ among men. How he longed, too, for more workers in the Mission field! Many a time he would say, after a walk through Hamilton on a Saturday evening: "Just think! In a little town like this there are men preaching at every other street corner, and I am alone in all of those hundreds of square miles in Mongolia! What you people are thinking of I cannot imagine!"'

In a correspondence which he conducted with the daughter of one of his former professors there is very much that reveals how deep and strong his religious life had become, and how he had noted the current of renewed spirituality which is evident now in all sections of the Evangelical Church.

From this correspondence we have been permitted to cull some beautiful and helpful passages.

'Glasgow: November 18, 1889.

'May He Himself lead you into closer and closer communion with Him, and give you in very full measure His joy and His peace! For myself and for you, I pray that we may be more captivated with Him and His friendship. You know, I suppose, No. 565, "In the Secret of His Presence," in the 750 edition of Sankey. No. 328, "O Christ, in Thee my soul hath found," is one I like too, as being the expression of partly experience and partly aspiration. He is truly the true source of true satisfaction. May we be led to trust Him more largely in all the things of our lives! I am sure, too it will be the things where we have trusted Him most and been most consecrated in His service that we shall value most when we look back on life from the end. May you be largely satisfied with His blessing and Himself!'

'November 20, 1889.

'I wonder if your experience is anything like mine—that I have often got less benefit than I had hoped from special withdrawals from common surroundings to get more into the presence of the Lord. One or two prominent instances of this have happened to me. I am glad He can be found anywhere, and that He is easy of access always with favourable or unfavourable surroundings.

'About feeling—never mind that at all. Things are so whether we feel them or not. Let us take God at His word, and not consider our feelings. God refuses no one who comes to Him in sincerity. Let us be sure of this. I once heard Spurgeon say a good thing: "When doubts or the devil comes and says, 'You are not saved; you are not right with God,' I go to Him and say, 'If I never came before, I come now; if I never trusted before, I trust now.'" That cuts off all doubts about the present as standing on the past, and gives a fresh start.

'All over the kingdom there is a hunger and thirst among many for a life of greater nearness to God; a feeling not only of the need of God being more of a daily, hourly reality and factor in our life, but that without Him more real and present life is not a satisfactory thing. When this feeling takes possession of one, we do not need to give up things as denying ourselves for Christ, so much as that we are changed in attitude towards many things. We drift away from them. Things that were gain to us we count loss for Christ. Our aims are different. May our lives be more fully taken captive thus! To a life lived thus, death is not a breaking off of anything; it is an enlargement of sphere.'

'Hamilton: December 5, 1889.

'All I know about the process is just going to God and telling what I want, and asking to be allowed to have it. "Seek, and ye shall find; ask, and ye shall receive." I know no secret but this.... God understands His scholars, and knows how to teach each one. Different scholars may require different ways. We may trust ourselves in His hands, only let us be earnest students. I have at different times been quite surprised how a book, or a friend, or a remark conveying just the teaching needed at the time has been brought into my way. Yes, none teach like Him.'

'December 25, 1889.—Oh that we may be more completely given over and up to Him to be used at His pleasure and as He pleases! Oh for more faith in Him! My lads are, I think, enjoying themselves; I commit them to Him; but eh!'

'January 1, 1890.—Just returned with my two lads after a day spent in London seeing my ship, the "Peshawur". The ship is full. My berth is not in a good place—but it is not bad, after all, and it is not for long.... You'll have lots of need of wisdom, and Jesus is made unto us wisdom as well as other things.... He'll teach you all right. Don't let us refrain for fear we make mistakes. The greatest mistake we could make would be to do nothing....

'Everyone is amazed to see me look so well. It is remarked on all round. I feel remarkably well too....

'May God be pleased to use me in His service!'

His heart was in Mongolia. At the very earliest moment which the medical authorities and the Directors of the London Missionary Society would sanction he returned. He sailed for China on January 9, 1890. As the steamer was running down the English Channel he wrote a letter to an old college friend just returning to England whom he had not seen for twenty years, and whom he was very sorry to miss:—

'In answer to yours of November 19 I directed an envelope to you long ago. It has lain in my writing-case ever since, often seen but always taken precedence of by the thing that stepped in before. Now's your turn. I'm sorry you'll not see me in England. I sailed yesterday My health has been restored, and I am off again.

'You say you want reviving—Go direct to Jesus and ask it straight out, and you'll get it straight away. This revived state is not a thing you need to work yourself up into, or need others to help you to rise into, or need to come to England to have operated upon you—Jesus can effect it anywhere, and does effect it everywhere whenever a man or woman, or men and women ask it. Ask and ye shall receive.

'My dear brother, I have learned that the source of much blessing is just to go to Jesus and tell Him what you need. I am delighted to hear you say you need blessing, because I know there is plenty and to spare with Jesus. Oh for an outpouring on all parts of the L.M.S. missions!

'There is so much that I would like to say that it is hardly worth while beginning to say anything; so I'll simply commend you to Jesus in all His fulness.'

On January 21, 1890, when nearing Port Said, he wrote:—

'We have excellent company on board. Never had such a very pleasant voyage. Some of the First Salooners come to our Bible readings. Those who are unfriendly to Christianity are careful to give no cause of offence and are polite. So far our voyage has been an exquisite picnic. Knowing well what is before us, we still rejoice in the present Elim and calmly trust for the future. I went on board with a "tremendous cold." So did two or three others. Mine, as I expected, went with the exposure.... No one teaches like Him who also was the first of preachers. In daily, hourly, humble communication with Him you will want for no wisdom and for no guidance and for no shepherding. Rejoice in that you have Him to manage everything for you.'

He reached Peking on March 14, 1890, and on March 24 started again for Mongolia. He entered upon his last spell of work with a good heart and with high hopes. Dr. Smith was to be his medical colleague. While in England Mr. Gilmour had visited Cheshunt College, and had there fired the heart of Mr. Parker with the desire and purpose of being his colleague. He was looking forward to his speedy arrival. During his absence in England Dr. Smith had paid one brief visit to Mongolia by himself, and another, still briefer, in the company of the Rev. T. Bryson of Tientsin. Meanwhile the work had been going on slowly and steadily under the care of the native helper, Mr. Liu, and of some of the converts. We now follow the story of this last year's work as it is told in Mr. Gilmour's letters and reports. On May 9, 1890, he wrote to the Rev. R. Wardlaw Thompson:—

'I have been all over the district, spending a month at Ch'ao Yang. There we were privileged to baptize four adults, one a woman, and one child, all Chinese. Two of these were young men who have been under instruction for eight or nine months, and are very pleasing cases indeed. The other two were a man and his wife, who is the first woman who has had courage to be baptized in this district. These last are an outcome of the medical work. They live in a small hamlet where the first beginning of an interest in Christianity took its rise from a man who came to me in the market-place with a bad sore in his leg, which had been caused by a wound from his own harvest sickle. The sore was cured, and friendly relations sprung up with the whole hamlet, and I am thankful to hear that, though only one family has put away its idols, all the neighbours are friendly.

'In Ch'ao Yang there are several inquirers. Some of the Christians give great satisfaction, others are not so satisfactory. One man, a Christian, tells me that his wife was possessed by an evil spirit, and to please her and cure her he had to allow the re-establishment of the worship of that spirit for her benefit. No sooner was this done than the woman was cured! Such things are firmly believed in by the Chinese.

'A most pleasing incident in our experience at Ch'ao Yang was a visit from a well-to-do farmer who lives some twenty li from the town. He has been friendly and an inquirer from the first. He has made no profession of Christianity, but says he reads his New Testament regularly, and prays. He has also taught two men in his neighbourhood. The one is a carpenter. The other is a farmer. They know the Catechism, observe the Sunday, and meet with Mr. Feng for worship. Both of these men we saw, and their story seems true. Feng came and spent a day with us. I asked him why he did not make an open profession of Christianity. His reply was that he lives with his parents, as all Chinese do, and that he cannot arrange his house disregarding them, who with his wife and children are still heathen. He has been able only partially to do away with idols in his own house. Outside too of his own house heathen pressure is so great that, he says, were he to join Christianity it would be no use for him to live! He says he lacks the courage single-handed to meet all the persecution that would descend on him were he baptized. Meantime he is instructing those about him in the hope, apparently, that were there several together they could better stand the trouble. It is an interesting case, but not at all satisfactory. My hope about him is that, if he keeps conversant with the Word of God, the Spirit may give him no rest till he has courage to take his stand and make his confession.

'We had a splendid month in the market-place. Chinese and Mongols in plenty, both to preach to and to heal. One Mongol betrayed a most intimate and full knowledge of Christianity. The drought gave good opportunity of speaking of many things, and in most cases we had respectful attention. It was a hard month's work. Seven till noon or a little after was our market time; the afternoon private patients, the evening inquirers, makes a very long day, which begins at daylight and does not end till after the second watch of the night has been set. The Chinese usually secure a rest just after noon, but frequently just then some patient would turn up, and put an end to quiet. In most cases the strain is relieved by holidays through rain and storm; but even this was wanting this time, so we had almost uninterrupted work.

'I am more than ever eager to have the medical work given over to a medical man. One day in Ch'ao Yang a man came swaggering across the open space in the marketplace. People pointed towards him and laughed. He was laughable, the ridiculous part of him being a straw hat which was an imitation, caricature rather, of a foreigner's hat. I could not help laughing. It was no laughing matter, though. He was a messenger from the cavalry camp just outside the town. He had come to take me to treat two soldiers who had received bullet-wounds in an encounter with Mongolian brigands. I had never seen a bullet-wound in my life, but I knew I could do more for the wounded men than any Chinese doctor; so I went. The wounds were then forty-eight hours old, and I dressed them as best I could, paying a daily visit for about a fortnight. Two wounds, though deep, were merely flesh; with these I had no difficulty. The third was a bone complication. I knew nothing of anatomy, had no books, absolutely nothing to consult; what could I do but pray? And the answer was startling. The third morning, when in the market-place attending to the ordinary patients, but a good deal preoccupied over the bone case, which I had determined should be finally dealt with that day if possible at all, there tottered up to me through the crowd a live skeleton, the outline of nearly every bone quite distinct, covered only with yellow skin, which hung about in loose folds. I think I see him yet—the chin as distinctively that of a skeleton as if it had bleached months on the plain. The man was about seventy, wore a pair of trousers, and had a loose garment thrown over his shoulders. He came for cough medicine, I think; if so, he got it; but I was soon engaged fingering and studying the bone I had to see to that afternoon. I was deeply thankful, but amidst all my gratitude the thing seemed so comical that I could not help smiling, and a keen young Chinaman in the crowd remarked, in an under tone, "That smile means something." So it did. It meant, among other things, that I knew what to do with the wounded soldier's damaged bone; and in a short time his wound was in a fair way of healing. I was and am very thankful; but, after all, I am more impressed than ever with the fact that things are badly out of joint when there are lots of Christian doctors at home, and abroad too, and I, knowledgeless, am left to do the doctoring in a large district like this quite beyond the reach of medical help, not only for the natives but even for myself should I need it.

'A grim commentary on these wounds was the fact that in leaving Ch'ao Yang I was to pass through a brigand-infested district—so badly infested that travellers have abandoned the road. As saith the Scripture, "The highways were unoccupied, and the travellers walked through byways." I had avoided this road twice, and was ashamed to avoid it again, so we went straight through it. We saw no one to harm us, but a week ago it was just as likely that I should to-day have been lying on a Chinese kang, trying to dress my own wounds, as that I should have been sitting here writing to you.

'I am at present waiting for Dr. Smith, whose last word to me, dated Tientsin, April 9, was that I should either see him or hear from him here between June 6 and 12.

'Yesterday, Sunday, June 8, had a pleasant day. The three Christians here have grown. Two of them have been through a good deal of trouble and stood it well. The farmer, who has been very ill, guessing we would be here, came in and spent the day with us. They seem very earnest.'

The beneficial result of the home visit of 1889 was very evident at this time. It had arrested the 'running down,' from which he had severely suffered. It had enabled him to renew old friendships, and to form new ones. His wholehearted devotion to the difficult work of his life and the wonderful intensity and depth of his faith had touched the hearts of many faithful men and women at home, who gladly responded to his oft-repeated request, 'Pray for me and for the conversion of the Chinese and the Mongols.' He renewed his interest in the broad current of the world's life. We have seen how some years previously he gave up all reading but the Bible. Now, while he studied the Bible with all his old eagerness, he had various newspapers sent to him, he rejoiced in the receipt of books sent by friends—especially those bearing upon the culture of the soul—and he kept his eye upon the religious and social movements of the day.

The selections from his correspondence which follow illustrate these changes in him. He modified his mode of life in Mongolia. Having given up vegetarianism on his homeward voyage he did not resume it upon his re-entrance on Mongol life. He remained a total abstainer, and his hatred of opium, whisky, and tobacco continued as strong as ever, although he did not now make abstinence from the two latter a test of Church membership. He reserved more of the Sunday as a day of rest, taking only the religious services with the Christians and inquirers, and not, as formerly, setting up his tent on the street. The old careworn look disappeared, his form regained much of its former life and spring, and his face filled out, his smile resumed the brightness of old, and the voice came back to a good deal of its early clearness. All these evidences of a change for the better served to augur many years of happy work. In a letter to a friend he playfully alludes to the twenty or thirty years of labour yet remaining, and he often—half in jest and half in earnest—asserted that life in the interior was so healthy that he should probably outlive his fellow-workers at Tientsin and Peking.

By the mail that conveyed the letter quoted on page 263 he also wrote to an Edinburgh friend:—

'Do you know Adolphe Monod's Farewell? It was sent to me lately by Rev. C. New, of Hastings, an old Cheshunt fellow-student. I have enjoyed it all, but most, I think, chapter xii., "Of Things not seen." A volume of sermons, entitled The Baptism of the Spirit, and other Sermons, by Mr. New, I have enjoyed intensely. To the meek child-like spirit desiring the sincere nourishing of the Word nothing, I think, could be more helpful.... If ever you send a book to the boys, let it be one that will do their souls good.

'I may be filling my life too full, but between medical work and spiritual work I have barely time to sleep, and I find that, for any hope of continuance of work, I must have time to sleep. For the last month I have been getting up at 4.30 A.M., and our evening worship and after conversation was not over till, say, 9 or 9.15 or 9.30, or even, once or twice, till 10 P.M. Then it would take us some time to square up the day's affairs, and spread out my bedding. In the daytime I used to bolt my door, determined on an hour's quiet; but often this was in vain. I would hear some poor cultivator come for medicine; he had a long way to go home, and I could not but let him in and attend to him.

'Yesterday, as no one knew we were here, I escaped at 5.30 and made for the hot springs, twelve miles away. I walked there and back, and in consequence to-day am lame on my feet—badly blistered. I had a grand day—so quiet. Going, I sat down behind a mud wall and read the four first chapters of Hebrews. Arrived, I had my bath, then got an empty room in an inn, had sleep, dinner, tea, and read the rest of Hebrews. I never saw so much in Hebrews before.... On the road I had a four-mile conversation with a farmer, who finally said he believed Christianity was true. We have baptized six in all since I returned, five adults and one child—all Chinese. "Be not weary in well-doing. In due time we shall reap, if we faint not." We are on God's side. God has need of us. Oh let us be such as God can take pleasure in! Faithfulness and love to Him are what He wants. Surely we can let Him have these two. Oh that it might be that everyone in every contact with us might feel the spiritual touch! Would not this be ideal Christian life? May He work it in us!

'Have you been to any Salvation Army efforts? I always felt better for going, but latterly did not go much—I could not stand the "row." I am eager that you should identify yourself with some soul-saving agency. If it really is a soul-saving concern, I don't think it matters very much what it is.'

On July 21, 1890, he wrote to the same friend:—

'Since July 3 we have had most extraordinary weather for this part—rain and dull; there have been only four or five days when I could go on to the street with my tent. I am therefore not so busy. In addition, Dr. Smith has joined me, and as he does all the indoor medical work, I am still less busy, and so I can write you more at leisure than usual.

'The rain reached a climax on Saturday night, July 19. Till then, roofs and walls held out well. There were leaks in places, but nothing serious. We thought it had cleared off. Not a bit of it. The wind changed, it is true, but then rain came down in torrents, the ceilings—all reeds and paper—began to give way. Ever and anon splash came a bag of water, as the paper burst in different places, and Dr. Smith and I had a lively time of it shifting our boxes and bedding to dry spots. By dusk it was serious. I was just about my wits' end when a Chinaman put his head into my room, and said with a grin, half in jest, half in earnest, "There is a tent standing idle out in that room, why not put it up in your room?" The idea of putting up a tent in your bedroom seemed so absurd that we had a good laugh over it; but after thinking over it awhile, and thinking out how the thing could be done, we actually did it. It covered two-thirds of my kang, and a little space on the floor where I put my boxes. The inner corner of the tent I put up to cover my stock of books and medicines, lit my lamp, brewed a pot of tea, and, squatting on my feet, called in Dr. Smith. He said I looked "just like an opium-smoker." Dr. Smith had a portable iron bedstead. On the top he put floor mats and a waterproof, and, without undressing, we went to bed. After a little a great crash was heard. Some part of the buildings had come down. In the rain and dark it was not easy to see what it was, but we at last found there had been more noise than real damage. We were thankful when day dawned.

'The Chinese suffered much more than we did. Such a rain happens so seldom—once in three or four or five years—that houses are not roofed to resist it; the Chinese deeming it cheaper to take the wetting than to spend the extra money it would take to make the house stand such an extra rain.

'In the wet weather I have been going into the Chinese Psalms, and have been much struck with the happy state of those who "fear the Lord," "trust in the Lord," and who, under a variety of expressions, are described as being on the Lord's side, and under His protection.

'And all these promises we can take for ourselves. Did you see in The Christian some time ago a story from Annan, of an old woman who was on the point of being sold out for not paying her rent? She had no money. Her son was in America. A neighbour, thinking it strange that her son had not sent her money, asked to see her letters. There was one with a Post-office Order for 7l. 10s. in it. She had had it for some time, but thought it was only a picture. When cashed she was in funds. Wasn't she a stupid old woman? To be bankrupt, with an uncashed P.O. Order in her possession! How often we are much more stupid than she! To be fearful, anxious, troubled, cast down, when we have all the promises of God in our possession, ready for our use.

'Let us cash our cheques. Nay, we have not only God's promises, but God Himself for our portion. Why should we be spiritually bankrupt?

'Another thing I notice is the difference subjective states make in reading the Psalms. Sometimes I go over a Psalm and see little in it. At another time I go over the same Psalm and find it full of richness. How important it is to have the light of the Holy Spirit in our Scripture reading!'

'July 30.—The little Wordless Book you sent soon fell into the hands of a Chinese convert, who asked to be allowed to carry it off. He wants to speak from it. He likes it because it gives him carte blanche, and lets him say just what he likes....

'How full the Psalms are! These days I am going through them in Chinese, as I said; I take one each morning and commit some verses of it carefully. Then, during the day, as time permits, I read a few more. How one the soul of man is! When dull and cold and dead, and feeling as if I could not pray, I turn to the Psalms. When most in the spirit, the Psalms meet almost all the needs of expression. And yet deluded men talk of the Bible as the outcome of the Jewish mind! The greatest proof of the Divine source of the book is that it fits the soul as well as a Chubb's key fits the lock it was made for.... Now I am off to the street with my tent.'

'Mongolia: July 28, 1890.

'My dear Meech,—Dr. Smith came here July 2. The rains set in immediately on his arrival, and we have had it since. The spiritual rain has not come yet, nor are there any signs of it. When it does come may it come like the physical rain! Glad to see you have been having some. May you have much more! Make the valley full of ditches, brother, and then look out for the flood. Do you think we'll be able to go up to Him at last and say, "We did our part, but you did not do yours, Lord"? Eh, man! Elijah called down fire with a short prayer, but his servant made six vain journeys to the summit only to return with the discouraging news—nothing. May the good Lord, who knows our frame and remembers we are dust, give us a little now and again, at any rate, if only to keep us going meantime! Eh, man! there will be no lack on His part. He'll shine up all right, not only to perform, but to succour His servants who trust in Him.'

'July 28, 1890.

'My dear Owen,—I know worry should be an unknown element in a believer's experience. I am eager to have done with it. I thank Him for much of its absence. But dissatisfaction with the present state of things is not worry, but legitimate soul-longing, and the death of that would be a bad thing.

'I can hardly tell how I am; Since Dr. Smith came I have taken little note of inward things or outward either. It is very pleasant to have him here, and as the best sign of digestion is not to know one has a stomach or a digestion, is the best sign of spiritual health not to know one has a soul at all? I wonder is this so? His presence has made a difference. Duty has kept me living quietly in good lodgings, with only such work as I can easily do without any over-rush, and the prospect of another month like it! I fear I am not such company to him as he is to me.

'We have had terrible rains; the rivers were not crossed for five or six days, and, even after that, two men were swept away on two separate days—four men, in all, from this one town alone.

'I know you pray for us here. Eh, man! if the thing would move, if the rain would come! "As the eyes of servants," etc. (Psalms cxxiii., cxxvi.). I often read these Psalms together. And then I think what would please me best as a master would be to see my servant going ahead, energetically, and faithfully, and loyally with his work, not moping about downcast. Then is not this what God wants in us? So here goes cheerily and trustfully.'

'August 10, 1890.

'I cannot say God gives me all the victories I want, but He keeps me in peace and faith, and that is not a little thing. My devotional reading lately has taken the form of the Chinese Psalms, and Schereschewsky's high Chinese notwithstanding (for which may he be forgiven), they are very refreshing and strong. How like are the heart-longings and soul-breathings of the old Judean hunted outlaw—brigand, if you like to call him so—to the heart and soul feelings of the educated Occidental of the nineteenth century! Poor old Moses, another outlaw, what a battered old life he led, but what a grand soul, and how wonderfully he outlived it all, and was quite hale when called to die! How his people troubled him!—so like the Chinese. Fancy Moses going up the mountain to die alone. It is so nice to have a later glimpse of him in the New Testament alongside of Elijah, who too was once under a cloud. God does not keep up things. "As far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us." Love to all.

'JAMES GILMOUR.'

'Ch'ao Yang, August 19, 1890.

'My dear Sons,—I have just got here after a very hard journey of four days. It is summer and the rains are on; the roads are very bad.

'Our first adventure was in a deep narrow gully going up a mountain. We met a cart coming down. There was no room to pass and no room to turn back. What were we to do? One of the carts had to be pulled up the bank. Neither would go up. Both carters sat and looked at each other. Our cart was heavy, the other cart was light. After looking at each other awhile the other cart was pulled up and our carter helped him down again after we had passed.

'Our next adventure was in a river. The leading mule sank in a quicksand. The carter, shoes and all, jumped into the water; in a few seconds I had stripped all but a cinglet and pants, and was in the river too. We got out after a little while.

'Next day we stuck in a quagmire. We hitched the mules to the tail of the cart, pulled it out, then dug a new road in the side of the ravine and got past.

'The third day we upset our cart in a very muddy place early in the morning, and got caught in a thunder-shower in the afternoon. The fourth day we stuck in a mud-hole half a mile from the end of our journey, and when we got to our inn found our rooms in possession of a crowd of people doing a wedding.

'One thing made the journey very pleasant: it was this. Just as we were starting, one of the Christians, a Chinese farmer, but a man who is poor and dresses and eats very poorly, came and gave me two tiao, about 3s. 2d., to give to God. I was so glad to see him do it, and no doubt God was glad too. Then at the end of the journey, when we were stuck in the mud-hole and could not get out, up came one of the Christians, took off his stockings and shoes, went into the mud and helped us out. The country was very beautiful all the way—just at its best.'

In a letter to another correspondent he depicts what is involved in Chinese travelling during the wet season:—

'The last thing we had to do was to make a journey of eighty miles. You would soon do that in England. Here, in August, it is no easy matter. It is just the time when, on account of the rains, no one should travel, and no one does travel who can help it. Carts would not go. I had to find my way home from a cart inn the night before we started along a newly rained-on muddy Chinese street in the dark. Next day I had much brightness shed on the journey by one of the Chinese Christians—a poor man with, oh, so poor a coat—giving a donation to print Christian books. It amounted to about $1.00 (one dollar) in all, but it meant a lot of self-denial to him; and as I passed, a little later, the drought-parched district where he lived, and looked at the poor fields, I wondered where he got the money. I suppose God gave him the heart to give it. Starting a journey with such a bit of light made it cheery.

'We travelled at those eighty miles four days, and rested one Sabbath, five days in all. Within three-quarters of a mile of the end of our journey our cart stuck in a mud-hole. We had passed, shortly before, the cottage of a Christian, and, after we had been some half-hour or more in that hole, this Christian suddenly appeared on the scene. He is a great fellow for being neat and clean. In a few moments he was in the mud, ordering about the carter, shouting at the mules, and lifting at the stern of the cart. Even the mules felt there was some new factor added to the problem. They made a new effort and out the cart came. Would you credit it? A cart had been upset there some days before; it was said they had lost some thirty shillings in silver. The natives, hoping to find the money, literally dug up the highway and left a pit there. We did not know this, thought it was an ordinary pool, and drove straight into it. The Christian touch at the beginning of the journey, and the little Christian adventure at the end, made the journey and its remembrance quite pleasant.

'I am now reading Moule's Veni Creator, which came a few days ago. What helps me most just at present is the Psalms. I take a few verses every morning (almost), and learn off the Chinese translations of them. I never knew there was so much in the Psalms before. I believe that even at the end of a long life, this (discovery of more and more in God's Word) will hold true of all the Bible, and then for the beyond there is the Inexhaustible Himself—satisfaction for the present and plenty for the future.

'The endless sorrows and sufferings of this people here come home much to me. I see much of their bodily suffering, and in some feeble measure bear their sorrows and carry their griefs without being able to relieve them much. How dead and dark they are to things spiritual!'

Dr. Smith, who spent some weeks with Mr. Gilmour during this summer, has sent the following most interesting sketch of his daily life at this period. They were together for the most part at Ta Ssŭ Kou.

'He always got up at daylight, folded up bedding, and then began reading. About six a man arrived, selling hot millet and bean porridge. He bought two bowls of this for early breakfast. He continued reading Chinese, generally aloud; and when he came to a difficult word he repeated it again and again, in order to impress it upon his memory. About eight he had breakfast, consisting of Chinese rolls and a cup of cocoa.

'At nine he went to the street with his tent, Mr. Liu, the native preacher, accompanying him. One of the inn-servants assisted the latter in carrying tent and medicine boxes and in erecting same. The tent was erected in a broad street at the back of our inn, where a daily market was held. The medicine boxes were placed on a little table, in front of which stood a wooden form and another at the side. The patients were seated on these. Any difficult cases were sent to the inn to be treated by me. On the table were also a number of copies of various tracts and portions of Scripture. Mr. Gilmour dispensed medicines, talked and preached as the opportunity offered.

'About one he returned to the inn, and had dinner, consisting of meat, etc., which was bought at a Chinese cook-shop. About three we generally took a walk to the country. We used to go out to look at the various crops, and Mr. Gilmour would chat away to one and another whom we met on the road. He was generally recognised, and in the most friendly way. I have a very pleasant recollection of these times; often our conversation would turn to home, to our boys and friends. Sometimes he would tell me about his student friends, while at other times he used to tell me of his deputation work at home, and about the various people he had met there.

'Often a gentleman would come up and ask, "Where are you going?" to which Mr. Gilmour would reply, "We are cooling ourselves; we are going nowhere." It was always a mystery to people what we could possibly mean by taking walks to the country. One day two lads followed us for some miles across some low hills, anxious to know our business, and getting well laughed at by their friends, poor fellows, on their return to the town.

'One thing about Mr. Gilmour always impressed me deeply—his wonderful knowledge of the little touches of Chinese politeness, and his wonderful power of observation. He loved the Chinese—looked upon them and treated them as brothers, and was a man who lived much in prayer; and in this lay his great power as a missionary.

'When he met a Mongol he would exchange a few words of Mongol with him, and it was wonderful to see the man's face light up as he heard his own tongue. All the Mongols knew that he could speak their language, and as one of the few who did.

'As we returned to the town and were walking along the street, many of the passers-by would bow; and here and there a shopkeeper would give him a friendly bow. Sometimes he would buy a few peaches or apples, and not unfrequently he would give a sweetmeat vendor two cash for two sweets, handing one to me.

'About half-past four we returned to the inn, and then, as a rule, some people would be there waiting to see him. Mr. Sun, the box-maker, used often to come to read the Scriptures with Mr. Gilmour, and then they would discuss various points; Mr. Sun giving his opinion, and then Mr. Gilmour putting him right. Sometimes an outsider would drop in, and then, not unfrequently, Mr. Sun would talk to him about the Gospel.

'About six Mr. Gilmour had some cocoa and bread. At the time of the lighting of the candles Mr. Gilmour had made it a rule for the Christians to assemble for evening prayers, and, accordingly, they all turned up then. A Chinese table was placed in the centre of Mr. Gilmour's room, and three wooden forms were placed round the table for the accommodation of the preacher and the Christians. Mr. Gilmour and I used to sit on chairs at the vacant side of the table. On the table stood two Chinese candlesticks, each surmounted by a Chinese candle. A Chinese candle is made from the castor bean, and is fixed to the candlestick by running the iron pin on the latter into a hollow straw in the end of the candle. Then we also had a Chinese oil lamp. The upper vessel is simply a little earthenware saucer, containing a little oil, and in it lie some threads of cotton (a cotton wick). This is made to project over the edge of the saucer and is then lighted. The lower part of the lamp is simply an earthenware receptacle, in which the oil for replenishing the lamp is kept, and, while in use, the little lamp is supported in it. This often used to remind me of the parable of the virgins, and in reading that parable by the light of such a lamp one is able to make it very realistic to Chinamen.

'Our evening worship consisted in first singing a hymn, Mr. Gilmour leading. Then Mr. Gilmour offered up a short prayer; after which we read a chapter either in the Old or New Testament, reading verse about. Each man had a copy of the Scriptures. Then Mr. Gilmour gave a little address on the chapter; after which we had another prayer—one of the Christians being asked this time. Then another hymn and the benediction.

'Usually one or more of the Christians would remain chatting with Mr. Gilmour. As soon as they had gone we had a cup of cocoa together. Then Mr. Gilmour and I used to have evening prayers together. He used to read a chapter from a little book by Mr. Moule, and then we both prayed.

'After this we used to sit chatting together until bedtime, and so ended a day.'

In August 1890 Dr. Smith lost his wife, who as Miss Philip had become known and beloved by a large number of friends of the London Missionary Society, both in Great Britain and Australia. He had also become so ill that the ensuing weakness, together with the great shock of his wife's sudden loss, compelled him, early in 1891, to return to England on a visit. Before doing so he was able to take Mr. Parker, the young and active colleague appointed to assist Mr. Gilmour, out to Mongolia, reaching Ta Ssŭ Kou on December 5. Greatly encouraged by the arrival of his young helper, Mr. Gilmour was grievously disappointed by the enforced return of Dr. Smith, and the indefinite postponement of the hospital scheme that was so near to his heart, and upon which he always asserted, in his judgment, the ultimate success of the mission depended. But discipline of this kind only drove him back more entirely upon God. In a letter to Mr. Owen, dated December 29, 1890, he writes:—

About myself I have lots to be thankful for. I am mostly in the light, sometimes very sweetly. Sometimes, though, it is cold and dark; but I just hold on, and it is all right. Romans viii. I find good reading in dull spiritual weather, and the Psalms too are useful. When I feel I cannot make headway in devotion, I open at the Psalms and push out in my canoe, and let myself be carried along in the stream of devotion which flows through the whole book. The current always sets towards God, and in most places is strong and deep. These old men—eh, man! they beat us hollow, with all our New Testament and all our devotional aids and manuals. And yet I don't know. In the old time there were giants—one here and there. Now there are many nameless but efficient men of only ordinary stature.

'Brother, let us be faithful. That is what God wants. What He needs. What He can use. I was greatly struck by one saying of Mrs. Booth's. It will not be so very different there (in heaven) to what it is here. I guess she is right. I guess there will be differences of occupation there as here, and I guess that our life here is a training for life and work there. Oh the mystery! How thin a wall divides it from us! How well the secret has been kept from of old till now! May the richest blessings be on you and yours and your work!

'Yours affectionately, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'

The year 1891 found Mr. Gilmour hard at work as usual, in good health and spirits, and with the hope and apparently the prospect of many years of service before him. And yet, just as the summer was beginning, he was called to the presence of the King, and to the perfect work and fellowship of 'the Church of the firstborn.' Had he been able to choose his fate he would hardly have wished it other than it was. His work in Mongolia was steadily growing; slowly, it is true, but yet gaining a strength and impetus that will abide, and has well begun the conquest of Mongolia for Christ. Though practically without a medical colleague, and actually without the hospital for which he had so toiled and prayed, he was cheered and strengthened by the constant presence and fellowship of Mr. Parker. His letters are all in a cheery and buoyant strain, and, although referring not unfrequently to the future life, without a hint or a suspicion that he was in any degree conscious of the rapid way in which the days of his earthly life were running out. In a letter to Mr. Thompson, dated January 7, he says, 'You will be glad to hear I am in good health and spirits.'

To Mr. Owen he wrote on March 2:—

'Does God not mean to have a medical man here? I wonder! Wondering, I tell Him as I tell you, and try to leave it with Him, and in very great part do leave it to Him too. It is good to have His calm mercy and help. How's your soul, brother? I'll tell you how mine is—eager to experience more of the Almighty power inworking inside. Eager to be more transformed. Less conformed to the world. Eager to touch God more, and have Him touch me more, so that I can feel His touch.

'I am distressed at so few conversions here. But again sometimes very fully satisfied in believing I am trying to do His will. That makes me calm. I am scared at our property venture, but again trust in God, and the fears subside. The world to come, too, sometimes looms up clear as not far distant, and the light that shines from that makes things seem different a good deal.'

From other letters that remain we catch glimpses of the course of his action and thought during these last weeks. During the year 1869 he met in Edinburgh Mrs. Swan, the widow of one of the pioneers of the Mongol Mission of 1817 to 1841, and that interview gave the chief direction to the work of his life. In March 1891 he heard of Mrs. Swan's death, and he wrote to Miss Cullen, her niece, the following letter:—

'I sent you a post-card acknowledging receipt of your kind letter of December 10, saying that Mrs. Swan had passed away on November 22. I had not heard, and just then I had not time to write. I am now at the east end of my district, three days' journey from where the mail reached me.

'I am much moved to think that letter to me was her last. And there is a fitness that it should be so. "Baptized for the dead," as the phrase is. In some sense I am successor to her work, and it was not out of keeping that her last letter should have been to the field which all along had such a large place and keen interest in her heart, where so many more good works found a place. I often think of all the kindness and friendship I have experienced at her hands, both on my visits to Edinburgh and through letters. Missionaries miss such lives much when they are removed. I need not speak to you, who knew her so well, of what a charming hostess she made, and of how, even in her old age, all her great and abiding earnestness had running through it all so much happy Scotch humour.