'I had no idea Mrs. Swan was so old. Eighty-one, she did not look old except about the last time I saw her, and then I had no idea her age was so great. She has gone; but for many years to come, if I am spared, I shall from time to time revisit her in her house in Edinburgh, and see her at the table with the quiet Jane moving noiselessly around, or see her seated at her desk in the corner, writing letters. Remember me very kindly to your father—fit brother for such a sister. Their separation cannot be very long at the longest. For that matter of it, those of us who are here longest must soon be gone, and when the going comes, or looms before us, let us look not at the going, but at the being there.'

Having paid considerable attention to the work and methods of the Salvation Army, the publication of In Darkest England interested him greatly, and on March 9 he sent in a letter the following trenchant criticism, all the more noteworthy because of his strong sympathy with much in the Army that others find it hard to accept.

'Got here Saturday. Had a good Sunday with the Christians. To-day it snowed, and thus we have had time to put our house in order. I have read Booth's scheme in the Review of Reviews. I am greatly puzzled. It is so far a departure from Booth's principle of doing spiritual work only. It reads well, but Booth must know just as well as I do that much of the theory will never work in practice. What I dislike most in it is, it is in spiritual things doing exactly what it attempts to do in secular things—namely, it threatens to swallow up in a great holy syndicate no end of smaller charities which have been and are working efficiently. Again, the finally impenitent are to be cast off. Yes, that is just the rub. It will leave the good-for-nothings, many of them cast out as before. Nor will Booth's despotism do in the long run. But I am for the scheme and for old Booth too; but, nevertheless, there is both a limit and an end to all despotism and despotisms. But I am more favourable to the scheme than these words would seem to indicate.'

Mr. Parker, who bids fair to be a successor after Gilmour's own heart, in his first report of his experiences in Mongolia gave a bright and hopeful view of his colleague.

'On arriving at Ta Ssŭ Kou we found Gilmour very well indeed; looking better than he did when I saw him in England. He was jubilant over our coming, and it has been a great source of happiness to me to know that God's sending me here has up till now given happiness and comfort to one of His faithful servants. I have had a slight taste of being left alone, and I must confess Gilmour has had something to endure during the last few years.

'We are living in hired rooms of an inn. Gilmour is not in this courtyard. I have been alone here with my Chinese boy for the last five weeks (Dr. Smith being in Ch'ao Yang until a few days ago). I have been unable to get a proper teacher at present. Gilmour's student has been teaching me. He speaks distinctly. With him I have made very fair progress. I hope in a few days to secure a proper teacher.

'Another thing which has taught me a good amount of the Chinese I know is having to give orders to my Chinese boy in house-keeping generally. I am thankful to God for past experiences in my life, though they were rather rough; for here I find they come in very usefully. I had to teach my boy how to cook and do things generally. It was rather an amusing piece of work, seeing that I knew nothing of the language. Each order I gave him was a comedy in two or three acts, all played out in dumb show. In telling him what I wished purchased I was obliged to imitate sounds which are peculiar to certain beasts and birds, which when he understood, he announced that fact by opening wide his eyes and emitting a loud "Ah!" which was generally followed by the name of the thing indicated bellowed forth at the top of his voice as if I were deaf. Also he in turn, when he had anything to tell me, always stood in the centre of the room and went through a whole performance. On one occasion, when he wished to tell me that a certain dog had stolen the day's meat, the performance was so amusing that, when he had got through, I asked him what he was trying to say, in order that I might once more see the fun.

'Forgive me for taking up your time with such frivolous things. But I have picked up much of the language in that way, although at the cost of being grimed with soot and burning my fingers. All that is now past, and the boy is very useful, and, although now a heathen, I am hoping that by my influence he may be led to know the love of Jesus Christ. I am very glad that I came straight out here. I am sure I shall learn the language (of the people, perhaps not of the books) better than in the frontier cities. I am constantly forced to try and speak. Every day I have some visitors here whom I must try and entertain. I feel stupid at times with them, and perhaps they think I am; but, nevertheless, each day's experience is adding to my vocabulary. And when so learnt, I know that people will understand me when I speak.

'Gilmour is doing a valuable work. Every day he goes to the street and sets out his table with his boxes of medicines and books. He has three narrow benches, on one of which he sits, the other two being for his patients. Of the latter he has any amount, coming with all the ills to which humanity is heir. It is a busy street, not of the best repute, for it is where all the traders in second-hand clothes and dealers in marine stores spread out their wares.

'For some weeks I went out at a certain hour to take care of Gilmour's stand while he went and got a "refresher" in the shape of some indigestible pudding made of millet-flour with beans for plums. He generally left me with a patient or two requiring some lotion in the eye or some wound to dress. Then I, being a new-comer and a typical "foreign devil" (being red of hair and in complexion), always brought a large following down the street with me, and attracted a great crowd round the stand. At first it was not pleasant to sit there and be stared at without being able to speak to them; but after a while I got very interested in the different faces that came round. On one occasion I noticed the crowd eagerly discussing something among themselves, giving me a scrutinising look now and then. Now and again one would turn to his fellow and rub his finger across his upper lip as if he was feeling for his moustache. I had only been here a week or so then, and knew very little of the language; but I listened attentively, and at last I heard them speaking the Chinese numerals, and then it all dawned upon me that they were inquiring about and discussing my age; so I up with my fingers indicating the years of my pilgrimage. I never saw a crowd so amused. "Ah, ah!" they said, and opened their eyes, highly delighted that I was able to tell them what they wanted to know. Then I had my turn, and, pointing to a man here and there in the crowd, I used what little of Chinese I had in guessing their ages.

'But the sights of misery, suffering, and wretchedness which gather round Gilmour's stand are simply appalling. His work seems to me to come nearest to Christ's own way of blessing men. Healing them of their wounds, giving comfort in sickness, and at the same time telling them the gospel of Eternal Salvation through Jesus Christ. One day that I went I found Gilmour tying a bandage on a poor beggar's knee. The beggar was a boy about sixteen years of age, entirely naked, with the exception of a piece of sacking for a loin cloth. He had been creeping about, almost frozen with cold, and a dog (who, no doubt, thought he was simply an animated bone) had attacked him.

'The people here are desperately poor, and the misery and suffering one sees crawling through the streets every day is heart-rending. I have not a doubt that I am in a real mission field, and thank God that He has given me the opportunity to do something towards alleviating some of this misery. But what about the work as regards the saving of souls and establishing of a Church? I can only speak of the work in Ta Ssŭ Kou. It is in its initiatory stage. All the Christians and adherents can sit round the four sides of my table. But I am highly pleased with them.'

The letters of this period have a very tender and sacred association for all who received them, since they reached England after the telegraphic tidings of James Gilmour's death had brought sorrow to his many friends. They came, in a sense, like a message from one 'within the veil.' Some of these refer to the books he was reading, and from which he had derived benefit; some depict phases of his experience; some bear directly upon his work and its needs; all possess the solemn value and are read in the clearer light imparted to them by Death.

The first was written to one of his brothers.

'Do you know In the Volume of the Book, by Dr. Pentecost? It is A 1. I have just read it. It is not a dear book. Read it, man, by all means. It gives zest to the old Bible. I am reading through the New Testament at about the rate of a gospel a day, or two epistles. Rapid reading has advantages. Close study of minute portions has other advantages. All sorts of reading are valuable. Go for your Bible, brother. There is no end more in it than ever you or I have yet seen. I am going for it both in Chinese and English, and it pays as nothing else does. In Jesus is all fulness. Supply yourself from Him. May the richest blessings be on you from Him! Heaven's ahead, brother. Hurrah!'

The next was to the Edinburgh correspondent from whose letters we have previously taken extracts.

'This mail was sent off February 2. It came back the same day. The man was scared by robbers. He leaves to-morrow. We are well. We are idle. Would you believe it? It is Chinese New Year time, and I cannot go on the street with my stand. No people: soon will be. We are thankful for the rest. It won't last long.... Oh, it is good to have Jesus to tell all to. May He be more of an intimate friend to you and to me! The troubles of this earthly life are not few. How many were Paul's! I am reading Farrar's Life and Work of Paul. It puts much new light on the epistles. What a time the man Paul had of it! Yet he called them "light afflictions." How much lighter are ours! And the same heaven he looked to is for us—the same crown—not to him only, but to all who love the appearing of Christ. You love Him. Rejoice and be glad. I am so glad that the crown is not only for such as Paul, whom we cannot hope to imitate, but for those (ii. Timothy iv. 8) who have loved His appearing. We do that, don't we? May the joy set before us enable us to endure, when endurance is needed! May your heart rest in Him! May your soul cling to Him! May His light always shine on your path! May I always, even in dark days and dark times, have His light in my heart and soul! Don't regard me as one always on the sunny heights, but as one often cast down, often in much feebleness, in much unworthiness, and falling so far short of my own ideal. But it is good to think that, in Christ, we are perfect, that He makes up all.

'Parker and I read Holy of Holies, when together. It is a good book. Meantime, he and I are three days' journey separate, and may be so for a month to come yet. I hope he likes it. It is a little hard on him, but I had to come here on mission business, and, if needed, will return to him at any time. Looking again at Heb. vi. 4-6.'

His correspondent had asked him about this passage.

'It is said—it is impossible to "renew them again to repentance." Does it not seem clear that what is described cannot be the case of one who has the repentant heart? I think so decidedly, and that passage has no bearing on the sinner who repents.... No one will come to harm who commits himself to His keeping. And no one will lack leading who has God for his guide. If I could only hear of or from the friends I pray for, that they had given themselves over to God's keeping, I would be at rest and thankful. You are trusting in Him. You will not be ashamed. He will take care to supply every needed blessing at the right time and in the right way.

'Some day, I believe we shall stand in Eternity and look back on Time. How ashamed we then shall be of any want of trust and of any unfaithfulness! May He help us to look at things now in that light, and how to do as we then shall wish we had done!...

'I would be glad if you would send me half a dozen copies of the Wordless Book. Two copies fell into the hands of robbers and were thus lost....

'I shall be glad to have the Life of Faith. You might mark any passages that strike you.'

In a letter to the Rev. J. Paterson, dated April 1, he writes:—

'It helps me much out here to get the best consecrated literature, and to get it early. Men in the most difficult and dangerous fields should be the best armed and equipped. Some of these books open up new treasures to me in God's Word. I do not use them in place of God's Word, but as openers to the treasures.'

In almost the last letter from him received by his brother Alexander and dated April 24, 1891, the following passage occurs:—

'The Practice of the Presence of God, being conversations and letters of Brother Lawrence. Please send a copy to yourself, John, Matthew, Paterson, Miss Gowan, and ten copies to me, charging all costs to me, of course. It is by a Roman Catholic: don't imitate his Roman Catholicism, but his practice of the presence of God.'

In April Mr. Gilmour journeyed to Tientsin, and was unanimously elected to preside over the annual meeting of the North China District Committee of the London Missionary Society as chairman. His last communication to the home Society, with the exception of one brief note upon a matter of committee business, was a post-card, dated April 20, 1891, received in London some weeks after the tidings of his death. It runs:—

'Arrived here yesterday. The world keeps shrinking. Left Ta Ssŭ Kou Monday 8 A.M. Tuesday noon dined in a border Mongol village, in a Mongol's inn, served by a Mongol waiter, in presence of a number of Mongols. Got to London Missionary Society's Compound, Tientsin, Saturday, 5 P.M. Our headquarters are just five days from the extended railway. Am in A 1 health, everybody says so here, and that truly. Meantime am in clover, physically and spiritually. With prayers for the home end of the London Missionary Society's work.

'Yours truly, 'J. GILMOUR.'

Just thirty-one days later he was lying dead in the same compound. How the interval passed is told by those who enjoyed those closing days of lofty spiritual fellowship. Had it been foreseen that the end was so near, the fervour and impressiveness and help of his presence could hardly have been increased. Before, however, passing to the details of this last month, the following letters are given in extenso as they form the last lengthy sketches of his work drawn by his own hand.

'Tientsin, L.M.S.: April 20, 1891.

My dear Mrs. Lovett,—I guess you are at the bottom of 10l. from Clapham Congregational Church Working Society (Ladies). Ar'n't you? If so, thanks. If not—I was going to say you ought to be—but my courage fails me. Anyhow, you can read and please forward the enclosed with my best thanks to the friends. I got here two days ago, and am here for a short time. The railway has gone out eastwards, is still going, and has now a station near me in Mongolia—near me being five long days' journey; but that is near, as near and far go here.

'I have many grateful and many prayerful remembrances of England and English friends, and a vivid remembrance of your kindness when I was with you. My regards to your parents. I hope you and your husband and children are all well. I heard of Mr. Lovett being in America—American Pictures on the stocks?

'I had intended to write you a nice letter, but it won't come, and the letter must go as it is. Please read into the remaining blank sheet all the feelings and good wishes I should express and do feel, and next time I write you, may it not be in the ebb tide, at the end of a mail.

'Your husband's a Director. I do hope they are sending me a doctor. If he can do anything in the matter, I wish he would.

'Yours, dried up and feeling dumb, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'

Enclosed in the above was the following letter, dated March 10, and addressed to 'The Clapham Congregational Church Ladies' Working Society.'

'Dear Friends,—Many thanks for your handsome donation (10l.), notice of which has reached me last night. I am told you want to hear from me. All right. I am just back from a month's raid into Ch'ao Yang. Had a fine time. Good weather and plenty of work in the marketplace. Baptized four adults, three being women—all Chinese. It is the day of small things truly, but I am not a little encouraged, over the women especially. That now makes four Christian families in Ch'ao Yang or its immediate neighbourhood. The two wives baptized this time have Christian husbands. It has all along been our prayer that the unsaved relatives of the saved might be saved.

'Mrs. Chu's husband was baptized a couple of years ago. She consented to his taking their two children to me to be baptized, but she herself would have nothing to do with Christianity or Christ. This time she got over her difficulties. I was much pleased, especially as she had annoyed her husband a good deal last year about his having been beaten about his Christianity. She also had her little child baptized. Pray that God may keep and help them in all the many complications that will arise on account of their Christianity, living as they do in a composite family, the ruling powers of which are heathen.

'Mrs. Ning is a model wife. They are poor. Her husband cannot dress in good clothes, but is always as neat as a virtuous wife, skilful with her needle, can make him. She mends so neatly. I once discarded a vest (Chinese) and gave it to her husband. He took it home, and later on I saw him swelling about in it quite like a neat old gentleman, though I was almost ashamed to give it him.

'They have had family worship in their home for a year or two—they say. We went to baptize her. It was such a small, poor house, but so very nice inside. Mother and grown daughters and little girl, with father and grown son, all sleep on a little brick platform, hardly big enough for me—one man. She and the grown daughter support the family by needlework—making horsehair women's head fittings, which the father sells, when he has nothing more to do.

'The son is epileptic and can earn nothing, and is, in addition, a great eater. He is a good man and a Christian. As we entered, the son and daughter went out. The mother and little daughter were baptized. The father did not wish his big daughter baptized. When she is married she will get a heathen mother-in-law, who will go for her and make her worship idols. So said the father. In a few days the father came back, saying that out of fear of the coming mother-in-law he had not had his daughter baptized, but that his daughter had pressed him so hard that she was as formidable as the mother-in-law. The daughter says she'll stick to her God and let them stick to theirs, and so she was baptized. She has a hot time before her. Chinese mothers-in-law are no joke. Pray for the lassie that:—(a) she may be steadfast; (b) she may be wise; (c) she may be gentle in her resistance; (d) enabled by God to endure; and that the mother-in-law may be restrained. God can do all things.

'Here, in Ta Ssŭ Kou, two of the Christians have wives very much opposed to Christianity, and give their husbands hot times. Remember the husbands, please, and all such in their shoes, in prayer, and may the darkened women themselves be enlightened. You have no notion how deeply sunk in superstition the women are. Still another Christian has a wife whom he has to allow to worship a weasel, because the woman shows symptoms of being possessed by the beast if she does not worship it!

'The other day a woman came to my stand in the market-place, saying that "Mr. Yellow" troubled her. "Mr. Yellow" turned out to be the weasel, and she firmly believed her sickness was due to the beast.

'We are badly in want of a lady medical man in this district. Don't you know of one who would do? Are there none of you who could study medicine and go out as doctors to some of the many needy places? Much was hoped for this district from the late Mrs. Smith, but God took her. Any one who comes here should have good health, and not fear seclusion from foreign company. I would suggest that a couple should come, a medical and a non-medical. There is a house which could be got for such a couple, only I don't see how they could get on without knowing some Chinese. Perhaps some one of the Peking or Tientsin ladies already speaking Chinese would volunteer to be a medical lady's companion. Would that God would stir some of you up! Meantime, thanks for the money. Thanks also for the prayers which I take for granted you let us have. You might also pray for a woman who has a very good, quiet, Christian husband, but herself has such a temper that she cannot in decency take on a Christian profession. Eh, man! eh, man! it is curious that I, a widower, should be left to look after women's souls out here, when lots of women are competing for men's situations and businesses at home. I guess things will come right some day, though I may or may not see it.

'Very gratefully, 'Yours sincerely, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'

On May 8 he sent the following note to Mrs. Williams, the wife of the Rev. Mark Williams of the American Board. Their Society happened to be holding its annual meeting at the same time in Tientsin as the London Society. Mr. Gilmour was just entering his fatal illness as he penned these lines, the last, we believe, that he wrote. They are a beautiful testimony to the strength of his affection for the Mongols to whom he and his wife had ministered so well long before, and on whose behalf they had suffered so much and so deeply. Standing as he was on the borderland of the heavenly country, he recalls the hard toil of his early days, and he leaves to those who must carry on to a successful issue, not only his work, but also the great enterprise of winning all China for Jesus Christ, this as a last legacy—the fruit of his prayer, his faith, his toil and his utter self-sacrifice—namely, the conviction that the need of China is 'good, honest, quiet, earnest, persistent work in old lines and ways.'

'Tientsin: May 8, Friday.

'My dear Mrs. Williams,—Thanks for returning the photos. Not having delivered them to you personally, I feared that in the present whirl of people and business they might have been mislaid, or even not reached you.

'It is a great pleasure to see you here at this time. Many memories of past times and days come up. Though never again likely to see Kalgan, I often in thought go along its narrow, hard streets, and its up and down sideways, call in at your house, see all your faces, even that of the youthful Stephen, and the studious Etta; and often go up over the Pass into the grass land.

'It is like a rest for a little while beside the palms and wells of Elim to meet you all here.

'Your peaceful, happy family fills me with gratitude to God. May He bless them all (your children), and lead them not only into paths of peace and pleasantness, but of useful service for Him! You and your husband seem well. May many useful years of ripely experienced labour be yours!

'Lately, I am being more and more impressed with the idea that what is wanted in China is not new "lightning" methods so much as good, honest, quiet, earnest, persistent work in old lines and ways.

'With many grateful memories of all old-time Kalgan kindness, and hoping to see a note from you, or Mr. Williams, say once a year or so, and with prayers for you and all Kalgan-wards Mongols,

'Yours, cheered by the vision of you all, 'JAMES GILMOUR.'



CHAPTER XII

THE LAST DAYS

At Tientsin James Gilmour was the guest of Dr. Roberts—for too brief a time his colleague in Mongolia—and the doctor's sister, who kept house for him. The story of the closing days cannot be better told than in their words. To Miss Roberts fell the sorrowful task of sending the news of their irreparable bereavement to the two motherless lads in England.

'Tientsin: June 6, 1891.

'My dear Willie and Jimmie,—You will wonder who I am that call you by your names and yet have never known you.

'But I think, when you hear that your dear father spent the last five weeks of his life with my brother, Dr. Roberts, and myself, perhaps you will not be sorry to get a few lines from an unknown friend. It is now many weeks since we received a letter from Mr. Gilmour saying he hoped to be able to attend the annual meetings in Tientsin, and who would take him in? My brother replied at once, saying what a real pleasure it would be if he would stay with us. And so he came, and about a fortnight before the time, of which we were all the more glad. He looked the very picture of health on his arrival, and was in excellent spirits; many remarked how very well and strong he looked.

'I remember well the day he arrived, it was a Saturday afternoon. I suggested that he should have some dinner at once, but, thoughtful-like, as your father always was, he said, "No, thank you, I have already had all I want; I shall not require anything more till your next ordinary meal."

'By-and-by we showed him his room, "whose windows opened to the sun-rising." We had made it as pretty and comfortable as we could, and brightened it with freshly cut flowers. The next day I noticed he had taken the tablecloth off his writing-table, and in the evening he handed it to me, saying, if I remember rightly, "Here, mademoiselle, is your tablecloth. I am afraid of inking it. You had better put it away." I was grieved, and begged he would use, and ink it, too, for the matter of that; but it was no use, not on any account would he spoil my cloth, and therefore would not use it.

'He seemed very happy with us, and I think thoroughly appreciated the homelikeness of his surroundings after his lonely life in Mongolia, and the dismal rooms of a Chinese inn, and it was such a pleasure to minister to his comforts in every possible way we could think of.

'He used to spend his days, as a rule, in the following way:—

'After breakfast he would write letters. At 10.45, after a cup of cocoa, he would go over to the hospital, returning at 1 o'clock to dinner. This over, he would go back with my brother to see the in-patients. At 4.30 we would all have tea together, after which he would make calls, or go for a walk, or talk over committee matters with Mr. Lees or Mr. Bryson. Many evenings he would be invited out, or would be at a meeting, or would spend it quietly at home; and so the time went by till meetings began. Then the whole day till 4 P.M. was spent in committee, and at six Mr. Gilmour had a Bible-class for an hour with the Chinese preachers who had come to attend some of the meetings.

'These were nearly over when your father began to complain of feeling done up and of having fever. The following Sunday he was in bed. This was only eleven days before he died. On Monday, however, he was better. and up, and was able to be with us all day, and took the Communion with us all in the evening. Then we chatted together for some time and sang hymns, amongst others, "God be with you till we meet again!" No. 494 in Sankey's Songs and Solos.

'In this connection let me tell you some of Mr. Gilmour's favourite hymns in the book just mentioned. Amongst these were Nos. 494, 535, 150, 328. I dare say you would like to learn them and sing them for his sake.

'Your dear father was only in bed ten days before the end came, and all this time he spoke but little. He was too feverish and ill to want to talk or to listen: he just lay quietly, bearing his sickness with remarkable patience. One day, observing he was a little restless, I went to his bedside and asked him if he wanted anything. "No, nothing," was his reply, "only that the Lord would deliver me out of this distress."

'The last few days his mind was not clear, but all his wanderings were about his work. It was the last day but one of his life; he was more restless than usual, trying all the time to rouse himself, as if for a journey, when he looked up and said, "Where are we going?"

'"To heaven," I answered, "to see the Lord."

'"No," he replied, "that is not the address."

'"Yes it is, Mr. Gilmour," I said again. "We are going to heaven; would you not like to go and see the Lord Jesus?"

'Then he seemed to take in the meaning of my words, and reverently bowed his head in assent, his lips quivered, and his eyes filled with tears; and he was quieted, like a weary child who has lost his way and finds on inquiry that only a few more steps and he will be at rest and at home.

'The next day, his last, was still more restless. At one time he seemed to be addressing an audience and earnestly gesticulating with his hands; and, with as much force as he could command, he said: "We are not spending the time as we should; we ought to be waiting on God in prayer for blessing on the work He has given us to do. I would like to make a rattling speech—but I cannot—I am very ill—and can only say these few words." And then he nodded his head and waved his hand, as if in farewell to his listeners.

'It was seven o'clock in the evening when my brother saw the end was not far off, and at once we sent for all the other members of the Mission that all might watch with him in this last solemn hour. He was unconscious the whole time, and his breathing laboured.

'The two doctors battled for an hour and a half to keep off Death's fatal grasp, but to no purpose: the Lord wanted His faithful worker, and we could not keep him, though we wanted him much, and knew that Willie and Jimmie in England needed him more.

'Gradually the breathing became quieter and quieter, till at last, about 9.30, he just closed his eyes and "fell asleep," with the peace of Heaven resting on his face.'

In a letter sent by Dr. Roberts to Dr. Smith, who was then in England, a few further particulars are given.

'He preached one Sunday evening a very solemn sermon on "Examine yourself," and no one can soon forget the way he preached. During the annual meetings he was extra busy. Everyone remarked what a good chairman he made, and in the devotional meetings from 9 to 9.30 A.M. he was always ready to lead in prayer or speak a few words. Freshness, to the point, and to the heart—characterised all he did or said. In the evenings he conducted services for the native preachers present at the annual gathering, and to these meetings he took one foreigner each night to assist in the speaking.

'It was at the close of this busy week, when tired out, that he got the fever which eventually carried him home. The fever was very irregular in type, but after some days I felt it was an exceptional type of typhus fever. Great weakness of the heart was a characteristic feature all through his case, and but for this sad complication I believe he would have been alive to-day. Weak action of the heart was an old enemy of his. For the first week of his illness he did not feel very poorly, and we had many chats together, and some prayer and reading of God's Word every night nearly. But in the second week his temperature went up to 106 deg., and, though it came down under anti-pyretics, he seemed never to regain his former ground. His mind became more and more clouded. Parker took the night nursing, my sister the day, and I sat with him when time allowed. On Thursday, May 21, the day on which he died, he was very delirious all day, though he knew us all. I did not give up hope till 7 P.M., when his heart failed him in spite of active stimulation. It was then that we all gathered round his bed. I did my utmost with the help of Frazer to avert the sad end; but ere long, seeing our efforts were vain, we ceased, and sat in his room and saw him gradually and very peacefully pass away, his breath getting feebler and feebler till he closed his eyes and fell asleep in Jesus.'

The funeral took place towards evening on May 23, 1891. It was a lovely afternoon, and the sun shining brightly lent additional force to the words of John Bunyan which were printed upon the simple sheet containing the hymn to be sung at the grave: 'The pilgrim they laid in an upper chamber whose window opened towards the Sun-rising.' The coffin was borne to the grave by two relays of bearers; the first consisted of three European and three native preachers; the second, on the one side, of the Rev. S. E. Meech, his brother-in-law; the Rev. J. Parker, his colleague, and Dr. Roberts; and on the other Liu, his faithful Chinese preacher and helper, Chang, the tutor of the theological class at Tientsin, and Hsi, his courier, a native of Ta Ssŭ Kou. His last resting-place immediately adjoins that of his dearly loved friend, Dr. Mackenzie, and the service at the grave was conducted by the Rev. Jonathan Lees and the Rev. J. Parker. Chang offered prayer, and a farewell hymn was sung.

Sleep on, beloved, sleep, and take thy rest; Lay down thy head upon thy Saviour's breast; We love thee well; but Jesus loves thee best— Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until the shadows from this earth are cast; Until He gathers in His sheaves at last; Until the twilight gloom be overpast— Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until we meet again before His throne, Clothed in the spotless robe He gives His own, Until we know even as we are known— Good night! Good night! Good night!

Little Chinese boys who had known and loved Mr. Gilmour came forward and threw handfuls of flowers into his grave, loving hands laid upon the coffin a wreath of white blossoms on behalf of the now orphaned boys far away, and the simple but beautiful service was closed by a spontaneous act on the part of the Chinese converts present. Pressing near the grave of him whose heart loved China and the Chinese with a fervour and an enthusiasm that may have been equalled, but certainly have never been surpassed, they sang in their own tongue the hymn beginning, 'In the Christian's home in glory.'

The labourer had entered into the rest he had so often seen by the eye of faith. 'There remains,' he wrote, less than a year before his death, 'a rest. Somewhere ahead. Not very far at the longest. Perfect, quiet, full, without solitude, isolation, or inability to accomplish; when the days of our youth will be more than restored to us; where, should mysteries remain, there will be no torment in them. And the reunions there! Continuous too, with no feeling that the rest of to-day is to-morrow to be ended by a plunge again into a world seething with iniquity, and groaning with suffering.'

Many pages might be filled with loving eulogies of James Gilmour. But the best of all is the simple story of his life. Yet two or three references to his work and influence must here find a place.

From the pen of Dr. Reynolds comes this weighty testimony:—

'The end of his career came all too suddenly, and in gathering together my impressions of it as a whole, I am convinced that I have seldom seen a man so entirely possessed by a grand idea, so utterly persuaded that we had a debt to pay to the heathen world, so invincibly sure that Christian faith and life was the one supreme need of these regions beyond our circle of light. Few men have cast the bread upon greater waters, have sown the seed over a wider area, or had to mourn more sadly over those heart-breaking months which intervene between the seedtime and the harvest. Impartial critics have recognised the intense honesty, the shrewd wit, the faculty of vision, the power to tell the story of his rare experiences with such verisimilitude as to force upon the reader a ready acquiescence in every detail of his narrative. But his Christian brethren saw a deeper vein than this in Gilmour's achievements. He was ablaze from first to last with a passionate desire to set forth Christ in His majesty and mercy, in all His power to heal and to command. I had unexpected opportunities of finding how tender and affectionate his nature was; how grateful and enthusiastic his love to his Hamilton home, to his father, mother, and wife, and how faithful and loyal he was to the society and the brotherhood of his Alma Mater.'

The Rev. G. Owen, at a memorial service held in Peking very shortly after Mr. Gilmour's death, gave a sketch of his character and work, and thus summed up his life:—

'He spared himself in nothing, but gave himself wholly to God. He kept nothing back. All was laid upon the altar. I doubt if even St. Paul endured more for Christ than did James Gilmour. I doubt, too, if Christ ever received from human hands or human heart more loving, devoted service.

'If anyone asks, "Would it not have been better if Mr. Gilmour had taken more care of himself and lived longer?" I would answer: "I don't know. His life was beautiful, and I would not alter it if I could. A few years of such service as he gave Christ are worth a hundred years of humdrum toil. We need the inspiration of such a life as his. Heaven, too, is the richer for such a man and such a life. The pearly gates opened wide, I have no doubt, to receive him. Angels and men gave him glad welcome, and what a smile would light up the Saviour's face as He received His faithful servant home!"

'And he being dead yet speaketh. He says, "Be faithful, work hard, for the night cometh when no man can work. Be earnest, for life is brief; be ready, for life is uncertain." But why did God call him away in the midst of life and work? I don't know. Possibly work here is not of such importance as we think. Or there is more important service elsewhere waiting for such men as Mr. Gilmour. He has been faithful over a few things; he has been made ruler over many things, and has entered into the joy of his Lord.'

Mr. Parker wrote to the sons of his late colleague on June 6, 1891:—

'It is sad that my first letter to you should be to tell you about your father's death, of which no doubt you have heard long ago.... The last photographs of yourselves which you sent out he always had where he could see them. Whenever he travelled he took them with him. At Tientsin during his last illness he had them on a low side table, just on a level with his bed, so that as he lay there he could see them.... He was very happy, and died like a faithful soldier who had finished his work. It is sad, dear boys, to lose a father such as he was, but it is a great blessing to have had such a father, one so brave, so courageous, one who for the sake of Christ suffered bodily discomfort and pain, suffered terrible loneliness that he might win some of God's sinning children back to their Father's arms. He lived and suffered for the Mongols, and though God denied him the honour of baptizing even one of them, yet so faithful was he to his work that he toiled on to the very last. "Faithful unto death" are words fully exemplified in your father's life.'

In his first letter from Mongolia after his prompt return to carry on in a like spirit of faith and devotion the work from which Mr. Gilmour had been summoned away Mr. Parker depicts the grief of the native Christians on learning their loss. 'The sorrow of the converts here (Ch'ao Yang) at the news of Gilmour's death was very touching Grown-up men burst into tears and sobbed like children when they were told he was dead. All along the route where Gilmour was such a familiar visitor, in the market-place, and at their fairs, the first question they asked as soon as they saw me was, "Has Mr. Gilmour come?" And at my reply there was always great astonishment, accompanied by expressions of sorrow. Every day at evening prayers I can hear Gilmour's name mingled with their petitions. The Christians here have sent a letter of sympathy to his two boys.

'Here in Ch'ao Yang there are any amount of Mongols, not nomadic, tent-loving, but settled here, and hence they do not have to be sought. Right in the centre of the town is an immense Mongol temple with two or three hundred priests. Every day I have several of the priests in here, and yet I have heard again and again that this mission is misplaced. Some such words often pained the heart that is now still in death. But this is, and shall be, essentially a Mongol mission in this, that as the best efforts of dear Gilmour were for making Christ known to the Mongols, my best endeavours shall be to this end. But if some hungry Chinaman, standing by as I hold out the bread of life to his Mongol brother, seeks to eat of it, he shall have it, and be as welcome as the other.'

The letter to the children referred to in Mr. Parker's report is a fitting description of James Gilmour's life, and he himself would have desired no other panegyric. It came from the hearts of men on whose behalf he had given his very best, and it shows how strong a hold he had obtained upon their affection.

'We respectfully enquire for the peace and happiness of your excellencies, our brothers Gilmour, also for the peace of your whole school. In the first place Pastor Gilmour in his preaching and doctoring at Ch'ao Yang, north of the Pass, truly loved others as himself, was considerate and humble, and had the likeness of (our) Saviour Jesus. Not only the Christians thank him without end, but even those outside the Church (the heathen) bless him without limit. We, who through Pastor Gilmour have obtained the doctrine of the second birth, and received the grace of Jesus, had hoped with Mr. Gilmour to have assembled on the earth until our heads were white and in the future life to have gone with him to heaven. Little did we think we should have been so unhappy. He has already gone to the Lord. We certainly know he is in the presence of the Lord, not only praying for us, but also for you our brothers.

'We pray you, when you see this letter, not to grieve beyond measure. We hope that you will study with increased ardour, so as to obtain the heavenly wisdom, like Solomon, and that afterwards you may come to China, to this Ch'ao Yang, to preach the Gospel widely. As the father did, may the sons follow, is our earnest desire.

'Signed by the Ch'ao Yang Christians,

'LIU MAO LIN (preacher). P'ANG TIEN K'UEI. WANG SHENG. NING FU TUNG. CHANG WAN CH'UAN. CHANG KUEI. CHIANG SHENG. WANG HUI HSIEN. LIU I (your father's servant). SUNG KANG. CH'U WEN YUAN. CHANG CHEN. CHANG MAO CHI. NING KUANG CHEN. LIU CHO. T'IEN TE CH'UN. HU TE.'

Here, then, we leave him. If the story of his life fail to touch the heart, to deepen faith, to exalt our estimate of renewed human nature, and to revive enthusiasm in work for Christ at home and abroad, the fault must be in him who has tried to tell it, and to set in order the facts.

God's ways are ofttimes dark. James Gilmour had often felt this, and, to those who knew him, it seemed as though he were taken just when God's work needed him most, when the first-fruits of the coming harvest were being gathered, when his knowledge of the Chinese and the Mongols, and their knowledge of him and affection for him, were beginning to tell. But God knows best, and nothing can deprive the Church of Christ of the splendid self-sacrifice, of the noble perseverance in the path of duty of the bright example of courage, devotion, enthusiasm for souls, and patient continuance in well doing shining so clearly through all the long, years of toil. Love, self-crucifixion, Jesus Christ closely followed in adversity, in loneliness, in manifold perils, under almost every conceivable form of trial and hindrance and resistance both active and passive—these are the seeds James Gilmour has sown so richly on the hard Mongolian Plain, and over its Eastern mountains and valleys. 'In due time we shall reap if we faint not.' His work goes on. He is now doing the Master's bidding in the higher service. There, we must fain believe, he is finding full scope for those altogether exceptional spiritual affinities, and powers and capacities which stand out so conspicuously all through the story of his inner life. Upon us who yet remain rests the responsibility of carrying forward the work he began, of reinforcing the workers, of bearing Mongolia upon our prayers until Buddhism shall fade away before the pure truth and the perfect love of Jesus Christ, and even the hard and unresponsive Mongols come to recognise the truths James Gilmour so long and so faithfully tried to teach them—that they need the Great Physician even more than they need the earthly doctor, and that He is more able and willing to heal the hurt of their souls than the earthly physician is to remove the disease of their bodies.

Is not the real lesson of James Gilmour's life twofold? If it be looked at from the point of view of results, it should give clear and vivid ideas of the unwisdom of being cast down by the absence of results in face of the difficulties of missionary work in China. It is to be feared that there are still large numbers of good Christian people who believe that for the conversion of Chinamen and Mongols all that is requisite is to put into the hands of the heathen a copy of God's Word in their native tongue, and then preach to them the good tidings of salvation. No man in this, or in past generation, has done this more faithfully than James Gilmour. No man ever believed more firmly in the truth that it is 'not by might nor by power,' but by the direct influence of the Holy Spirit, that the intellect and conscience and heart of the heathen are to be subdued to the Saviour. No man ever wrestled more eagerly and fervently in prayer on behalf of the ignorant and sinful, and yet his avowed converts can be numbered on the fingers. Does this prove that God is unfaithful? Does this tend to show that the enterprise is hopeless? Or has God been teaching us, by the life of one of His ablest and truest servants, the lesson of patient continuance in the path of His commands, whether He blesses or whether He withholds? Is He not proclaiming to His Church the need of a self-sacrifice in all its members commensurate with that displayed by James Gilmour and others who like him have not counted their lives dear unto themselves in the struggle with heathenism? Some must go in the 'forlorn hope.' Some must lay down their lives in preparing the highway of our God. 'Herein is the saying true, One soweth and another reapeth.' But succeeding toilers in the Mongolian field, as the direct result of James Gilmour's sowing, will be able in days to come to apply to themselves our Lord's words, 'I sent you to reap that whereon ye have not laboured:—others have laboured, and ye are entered into their labour.'

If the life of James Gilmour be looked at altogether apart from the results that can be entered in tables of statistics, how splendidly inspiring it is! Faithful to his Master, faithful to his work, although the Master seemed to delay the blessing, although the work wore down the worker. 'I,' said St. Paul to the thankless Corinthian Church, 'will most gladly spend and be spent for your souls. If I love you more abundantly, am I loved the less? But be it so.' And in the Epistle to the Romans he applied to the Jews who were resisting the Gospel the ancient words of Isaiah: 'But as to Israel He saith, All the day long did I spread out my hands unto a disobedient and gainsaying people. I say then, Did God cast off His people? God forbid.' Nor will God cast off the Israel of China, or the Mongols who gave to the faithful teacher respect, attention, and in a way the love of their hearts, but who as yet have not surrendered those hearts to their true Lord. James Gilmour, in season and out of season, in almost constant solitude, in superabounding physical labours that often overburdened him, and once nearly broke him down, in the long disappointment of the most cherished hopes, and under the constant strain of what would have crushed any but a giant in faith, lived a life which, if it taught no other lesson, was yet well worth living to teach this—that Jesus Christ can and does give His servants the victory over apparent non-success, after the most vehement and long-sustained effort to secure success, and that this is the greatest victory possible to renewed and sanctified human nature.

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JAMES GILMOUR OF MONGOLIA:

HIS DIARIES, LETTERS, AND REPORTS.



EDITED AND ARRANGED BY RICHARD LOVETT, M.A.

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'The story of James Gilmour will, if we mistake not, take a place of its own in modern missionary literature. To a world devoted so much to mercenary interests, and a Church too given to take things easily, the life is at once a rebuke and an appeal not easily to be forgotten.'—CHRISTIAN WORLD.

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'James Gilmour may appear to some as a hero, to others as a deluded enthusiast, but no one who takes up this account of his life and work can fail to be fascinated by it.'—MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.

'Out of sight the most interesting and valuable missionary biography of recent years.'—LITERARY WORLD.

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'Not the least interesting portion of the book will be its strange pictures of life amid Mongol surroundings.'—LIVERPOOL COURIER.

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'There has been, if our experience serves us at all, no book quite like this since "Robinson Crusoe"; and "Robinson Crusoe" is not better, does not tell a story more directly, or produce more instantaneous and final conviction. No one who begins this book will leave it till the narrative ends, or doubt for an instant, whether he knows Defoe or not, that he has been enchained by something separate and distinct in literature, something almost uncanny in the way it has gripped him, and made him see for ever a scene he never expected to see.'—THE SPECTATOR.

'Mr. Gilmour tells a story well, and though he tells it quite simply and straightforwardly, he never misses the point of it. He writes, moreover, after having had exceptional chances of gaining a thorough acquaintance with the Mongolian character.'—THE GUARDIAN.

'There is a charm in the quiet way in which the modest missionary tells of his life in Tartar tents, of the long rides across the grassy plain, and of the daily life of the nomads among whom he passed so many years.' FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW.

'Mr. Gilmour's volume is one of the most charming books about a strange people that we have read for many a day.'—NATURE.

'Mr. Gilmour has lived tete-a-tete with a Buddhist Lama under his own movable roof; he has shared the hospitality of the desert caravan; he has taken his turn in the night-watch against thieves; and he has dwelt as a lodger in their more permanent abodes of trellis-work and felt. As a picture of the raw material from which Chinese civilisation has been finally evolved—the primitive stage of Tartar nomad communities—these sketches possess a great sociological value; while from the point of view of the reader for amusement alone they are full of liveliness and local colouring.' PALL MALL GAZETTE.

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Selected and Arranged from Mr. GILMOUR'S Diaries and Papers By RICHARD LOVETT, M.A., Author of 'James Gilmour of Mongolia' &c.

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'Extracts from the diaries of one of the most adventurous and self-denying of missionaries.'—SATURDAY REVIEW.

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