Chapter VIII: Sunshine and Shadow

In Peking the old familiar round of mission duties recommenced. Gilmour after his absence of eighteen months was the same man, and yet not the same. He yearned for fruit in the conversion of souls, and he began to devote himself with more eager self-denial than ever to the winning of Chinamen's hearts for the Saviour. The winter of 1883-1884 was spent in Peking, and his diary is full of incidents illustrative of the time and effort he gave to dealing with individuals.

In February, 1884, he made one of the most remarkable of his Mongolian journeys. He visited the Plain, travelling on foot, and thus subjecting himself to risks and hardships of a very serious order. But he had good reasons for his method, and he sets them forth with his usual clearness. Possibly no other journey of his life more strikingly testifies to his strict sense of duty, the unsparing way in which he spent himself in its discharge, and his eager desire to win souls.

'On this occasion, partly owing to the shortness of the time at my
disposal, which made it hardly worth while to set up an
establishment, and partly owing to the peculiar season of the year,
which would have made it difficult to find pasture for travelling
cattle, I determined to go on foot, without medicines, in a
strictly spiritual capacity, and not seeking so much to make fresh
acquaintances or open up new ground as to revisit familiar
localities and see how far former evangelistic attempts had produced
any effect. In addition there were some individual Mongols who have
been taught a good deal about Christianity, and on whom I wished
once more, while there was still opportunity, to press the claims
of Christ.

'Five cold days in a mule litter brought me to Kalgan, and another
day in a cart took me up over the pass and landed me in a Chinese
inn on the Mongolian plain. This inn has no separate rooms; the
guests all share the ample platform of the kitchen, and sleep on
straw mats laid over the brickwork, which is heated by flues
leading from fires on which their meals are cooked. The Chinese
innkeeper was an old friend of mine, and he permitted me to share
his room with him. From this, as a centre, I was able to make
expeditions to four Mongolian settlements.

'My first visit was made to a lama whom I have known for years, and
who has been instructed in Christianity by others, both before and
since I made his acquaintance. He is a man of influence, wealth,
and leisure, and, though a priest, has a wife and child. I spent
almost a whole day with him, and hardly know what to think about
him. He seems to admit that there must be a God of the universe,
and admits that Christ may be a revelation of Him, but in the same
sense in which Buddha was. From one part of his conversation I was
almost led to believe that he had been praying to Jesus, but I
could get him to make no such admission. I fear that the inquiring
spirit of former years has given place to a spirit of indifference.
He has everything he wants, he has little or no care, seemingly; he
is content to let things drift, and keeps his mind easy. If he were
only waked up he might do much for his countrymen.

'My second visit was to a temple and cluster of tents, where I
found some old acquaintances; was politely received, but nothing
more.

'My third visit was to another cluster of tents, where I was at
once hailed as the doctor, and, _nolens volens_, compelled to
examine and prescribe for a number of diseases. Some cures
accomplished years before explained the enthusiasm of the friends
there, but for spiritual results I looked in vain.

'My next expedition was to a place some miles--say eight--away.
Some years ago, in stormy weather, Mrs. Gilmour and I, soaked out
of our tent, had found shelter in the mud-house of a Mongol, who
refused to take anything for the use of his building, remarking
that we would be going and coming that way afterwards, and that
then we might give him a present of some foreign article or other.
I had sent him a few things, but had never since personally visited
him, and when I reached the settlement I was grieved to find that
the old man was dead. His son, a lad of twenty-three, had succeeded
to his estate, and his small official dignity and emoluments, and
received me in a most remarkably friendly way. He was just starting
from home, but on seeing me gave up all idea of his going away,
and, insisting on my staying in his tent for the night, spent the
remainder of the day with me.

'Next day, slinging on one side a postman's brown bag containing my
kit and provisions; on the other an angler's waterproof bag, with
books, &c.; and carrying from a stick over my shoulder a Chinaman's
sheepskin coat, I left my landlord drinking the two ounces of hot
Chinese whisky which formed the invariable introduction to his
breakfast turned my face northwards, and started for a twenty-three
miles' walk to the settlement which, for some summers in
succession, has furnished me with men and oxen for my annual
journeys. Now the Mongols are familiar with the

Russians, who, as tea-agents, reside in Kalgan; they have seen many
passing foreign travellers on horses, camels, and in carts; they
have seen missionary journeys performed on donkeys and ox-carts;
but I think that that morning for the first time had they seen a
foreigner, with all his belongings hung about him, tramping the
country after the manner of their own begging lamas. There were few
people to meet on the road, but those I did meet asked the
customary questions in tones of great surprise, received my answers
with evident incredulity, and, for the most part rode away
muttering to themselves, _You eldib eem_, which may be translated
to mean, "Strange affair." My feet, through want of practice, I
suppose, soon showed symptoms of thinking this style of travelling
as strange as the Mongols did, and were badly blistered long before
the journey was over.

'An occasional rest and a bite of snow varied the painful monotony
of the few last long miles; the river was reached at last, and,
crossing it, I was soon in front of the cluster of huts I had come
to visit, and on looking up I was agreeably astonished to find that
the first man to come out to meet me was the mandarin of the
district. He was soon joined by others, and, rescued from the dogs,
I was escorted to his tent, seated before the fire, and supplied
with a cup and full tea-pot. I had intended to drink tea in his
tent only for form's sake; but his tea was good, the snow seemed
only to have increased my thirst, the man himself was sincerely
friendly; under the circumstances my stoicism broke down, and the
mandarin's tea-pot was soon all but empty. Meanwhile, his tent had
been filling with friends and neighbours, to whom the news of my
arrival had spread, and in a little while I had round me a
representative from nearly every family in the village. Among the
others came my two servants--the priest and the layman who had
driven my ox-carts for me. Escorted by these I went to another
tent, rested there awhile, and then moved into a mud-built house.
The priest I had come to visit was busy lighting a fire which would
do nothing but smoke, and the room was soon full. Finding him
alone, I told him that I had come to speak to him and my other
friends about the salvation of their souls, and was pressing him to
accept Christ, when a layman I also knew entered. Without waiting
for me to say anything, the priest related the drift of our
conversation to the layman, who, tongs in hand, was trying to make
the fire blaze. Blaze it would not, but sent forth an increasing
volume of smoke, and the layman, invisible to me in the dense
cloud, though only about two yards away, spoke up and said that for
months he had been a scholar of Jesus, and that if the priest would
join him they would become Christians together. Whether the priest
would join him or not, his mind was made up, he would trust the
Saviour. By this time the cloud had settled down lower still. I was
lying flat on the platform, and the two men were crouching on the
floor--I could just see dimly the bottom of their skin coats--but
the place was beautiful to me as the gate of heaven, and the words
of the confession of Christ from out the cloud of smoke were
inspiriting to me as if they had been spoken by an angel from out
of a cloud of glory.

'But neighbours came in, duty called the blackman (layman) away,
the evening meal had to be prepared and eaten, and it was not till
late at night that I had opportunity for a private talk with him
who had confessed Christ; and even then it was not private, because
we were within earshot of a family of people in their beds.

'Of all the countries I have visited Mongolia is the most sparsely
peopled, and yet it is, of all the places I have seen, the most
difficult to get private conversation with any one. Everybody, even
half-grown children, seems to think he has a perfect right to
intrude on any and all conversation. Bar the door and deny
admittance, and you would be suspected of hatching a plot. Take a
man away for a stroll that you may talk to him in quiet, and you
would be suspected of some dangerous enchantment. Remembering that
one must always have some definite message or business to perform
when he travels, and hoping to be able to do something with this
same blackman, I had purposely left, in the Chinese inn, some
presents which I could not well carry with me, and after a day's
rest the blackman and I started to bring them. That gave us
twenty-three miles' private conversation, and a good answer to give
to all who demanded, "Where are you going?" "What to do?" He gave
me the history of the origin and growth of his belief in Christ. I
taught him much he did not know, and at a lonely place we sat down
and lifted our voices to heaven in prayer. It was the pleasantest
walk I ever had in Mongolia, and at the same time the most painful.
My feet broke down altogether. It was evident I could not walk back
again the next day, so, acting on my follower's advice, by a great
effort I walked into the inn as if my feet were all right; we
bargained for a cart and, the Chinaman not suspecting the state of
my feet, we got it at a reasonable rate. Mongols and Chinese joined
in explaining to me how much time and labour I would have saved if
I had hired a cart at first, taken everything with me, and not
returned to the inn at all. From their point of view they were
right; but the blackman and I looked at the thing from a different
standpoint. We had accomplished our purpose, and felt that we could
afford to let our neighbours plume themselves on their supposed
superior wisdom.

'Another day's rest at this place gave me what I much wanted--an
opportunity for a long quiet talk with the mandarin of this small
tribe. I was especially anxious to explain to him the true nature
of Christianity, because the Mongol who professes Christianity
lives under his jurisdiction, and I felt sure that a right
understanding of the case might be of service in protecting the
professor from troubles that are likely to come to him through men
misunderstanding his case. The mandarin came. On my last visit I
had been the means of curing him of a troublesome complaint over
which he had spent much time and money; in addition, I had brought
him a present from England. He was perfectly friendly and
exceedingly attentive, and at the close of the conversation asked
some questions which I thought evinced that he had somewhat entered
into the spirit of the conversation. He is a man of few words, but
from what he said I hope that he feels something of the truth of
Christianity.

'My next expedition was to a mandarin of wealth and rank, whose
encampment occupies a commanding site on a mountain-side
overlooking a large lake. I found him at home, and, as he knows
well the main doctrines of Christianity, my main mission to him at
this time was to try and rouse him to earnestness of thought and
action in regard to his personal relation to Christ. We spent great
part of the afternoon in earnest talking, and I was much pleased
with the manner in which he, from time to time, explained to
another mandarin, who was there as guest, doctrines and facts which
were alluded to in our conversation. Next morning he started on a
journey connected with the business of his office, and I returned
to my friendly quarters where I had left my belongings.

'I felt it laid upon me to visit two lamas at a temple some seventy
miles from where I was, and started next day. I reached the temple
in three days, and found that both the lamas I had come to see were
dead. So, as far as they were concerned, I was too late. Both on
the road, however, and at the temple itself, I had good
opportunities for preaching and teaching. I met some interesting
men, and not only in tents where I was entertained as guest, but
sometimes out in the open desert, stray travellers would meet me,
dismount from their horses, and give me occasion for Christian
conversation. Five days completed this round, and after another
day's rest I started back for Kalgan, escorted for ten miles by him
who had professed Christ. We walked slowly, as we had much to say.
Arrived at the parting place, we sat down and prayed together. I
then left, and the last I saw of the poor fellow, there he was,
sitting in the same place still. I reached Kalgan without
adventure, and returned to Peking on March 21, having been away
just over a month.'

Possibly the most touching comment upon this extraordinary journey is to give some of the brief entries which refer to it in the diary.

'_February 19, 1884._--Started in a litter for Mongolia. Good talk
in inn with innman.'

'_February 23._--Went to Mr. Williams. My letter had not reached
them. No one knew I was coming.'

'_February 25._--Over the Pass to Barosaij.'

'_February 26._--Spent the day with Tu Gishuae. Urged on him the
internal proof of Christianity--the change of heart.'

'_February 28._--Shabberti. Boyinto JauggÈ has desire to become
scholar of Jesus.'

'_March 1._--Walked here. Feet terribly bad. Snow on the road.
Great thirst. Badma Darag met me. Tea in his tent. Boyinto's
confession in the smoke of the _baishin_.'[4]

[4] Fire in the centre of the tent.

'_March 2._--Sabbath. Quiet day. Much talk with all. The Lord
opened my lips.'

'_March 3._--Walked to Barosaij with Boyinto to bring my presents.
Talk about Christianity. Prayer in the desert. Feet terribly bad,
oh, such pain in walking.'

'_March 4._--Carted back.'

'_March 7._--Hara Oss. Walked back here. Called on Tu Lobsung.
Talk. He knew the way to heaven, but said, "Tell it to some of the
younger ones." "You go first," I replied. "You most need to know."'

'_March 8._--Terrible feet. Got to Chagan Hauran.'

'_March 14._--Boyinto accompanied me to Chagan Balgas with his
pony. Saw him sitting as long as I was in sight. Feet bad.'

'_March 21._--Left Pei Kuan at 4 A.M. Dark and snow. Terrible march
over slippery stones. Nan Kou at 7 A.M. No donkey on such a snowy
day. Hired the next twenty-seven li. Stiff march. Shatto at 11.35.
Terrible march to Ching Ho at 3 P.M. Terrible march to TÍ Sheng
MÍn. Home at 6.10. Prayer Meeting. Thanks be unto God for all His
mercies.'

Early in 1885 Mr. Gilmour's heart was rejoiced by the tidings of the baptism of Boyinto, the Mongol to whom reference has been repeatedly made above. Although Gilmour's was not the hand to administer the rite, undoubtedly the conversion was the result of his work. On January 26, 1885, he received a letter from the Rev. W. P. Sprague, of the American Mission at Kalgan, part of which we quote.

'Kalgan: Jan. 14, 1885.

'Dear Brother Gilmour,--I hasten to tell you the very good news.
Boyinto of Shabberti was baptized by my hand this day into the
Church of Christ, here at Kalgan, in the presence of our assembled
church and congregation. I'm sure you will rejoice and thank God
more than any of us. And I never saw our Christians so happy to
receive any one into the Church. The only thing I regret is that
it should not be your hand instead of mine to administer the sacred
rite.

'I wrote you of his visit to us a month ago, and his application to
join the Church here, and our satisfaction with his appearance. He
turned up again yesterday morning, and spent all day with us. In
the afternoon we had, by previous appointment, a union meeting of
upper and lower city congregations, as a continuation of week of
prayer meeting, because the interest was so great. Mr. Roberts
preached, and in the after part of meeting, when two or three
others had risen for prayers, I asked Boyinto if he wanted to ask
Christians to pray for him, and he arose and expressed his desires,
including wanting to be baptized very plainly. We called church
meeting at close of the service, and proceeded to examine him for
admission to Church. He answered so well as to please every one,
making some happy hits, as when asked what sort of a place heaven
was, replied, "I haven't been there--how can I tell?" Then said,
"Would any one pray to go there if it were not a good place?" But
his straightforward, open simplicity was refreshing. There seemed
no reason for thinking he was other than an honest
believer--seeking to follow Jesus in all things. The native church
members first responded with enthusiasm that he was a most fit
candidate for receiving to the Church, and expressed great delight
at finding a Mongol who loved and trusted our Saviour. So we felt
with Peter, "Can any man forbid water that these should not be
baptized?" The others then asked me to baptize him on the morrow,
when we were to have another union meeting at our place. And could
you have seen his rising and answering my questions, give assent to
creed and covenant, and then see him remove his cap and bow his
head reverently and receive the water of baptism, your heart would
overflow with gratitude and praise to God for this first fruit
from Mongolia. After prayer we sang "From Greenland's icy
mountains," changed to "From Mongolia, &c," and we felt it as never
before.

'Though God has thus given us great pleasure in gathering this
first fruit, still I feel, and we all feel, that the honour of the
work belongs to God, and the reward to you and others.'

During 1884 and 1885 the regular work of the Peking mission occupied almost the whole of his time, the Rev. S. E. Meech being in England on furlough, and most of his duties therefore falling upon Mr. Gilmour. During his stay in England he had attended many of the Salvation Army meetings, and had caught much of their spirit. He had also come to the conviction that men needed to be dealt with individually rather than in the mass. Hence he gave much time to conversation, to teaching single persons the Christian catechism and the New Testament, and endeavouring, by talking and praying with them, to lead them to a knowledge of the truth. From six in the morning until ten at night he was at the service of all comers. In the afternoon he attended one or both of the Peking chapels, preaching if there were the opportunity, but always eagerly on the alert for any individuals showing signs of interest in the Gospel. It had been the custom of the missionaries to reserve the Sunday evening for an English service, devoted to their own spiritual refreshment. This, which was held in the mission compound, he ceased to attend, even although his absence sometimes made it impossible to hold the service, in order that he might find time to read and talk and pray with his Chinese servants. Frequently the meal-time would find him thus engaged, but the meal had to wait until his visitor had left, or until the interview came to its natural close. He ceased to read all newspapers except those distinctively Christian. He found no time for books, as he felt that direct work for the Chinese should fill the hours he might otherwise devote to reading. He became more wholly than ever the man of one book--the Bible--and so absorbed did he grow in this close dealing with souls that in the earlier stages of his wife's illness he felt constrained to place it before even her wish that he would remain by her at periods of severe suffering and weakness.

'_December 9, 1883._--At chapel met Wang from a place 300 li away
down in the country. He had heard a sermon there two or three years
before which he remembered, and could quote. I began the service,
and brought him up here to my study. We were talking when another
man, Jui, came in from 130 li north of Peking. He had to run away
from home on account of misconduct. These two kept me till dark.'

In a letter to the Rev. S. E. Meech, dated November 9, 1885, Mr. Gilmour refers to a number of these individual cases in which he has been interesting himself, and the way in which he has dealt with them. It illustrates his method of close and careful dealing with each native.

'Ch'ang attends Sunday and Friday services. My opinion about Ch'ang
is that he wants mission employ. He has no expectation of that from
me, and little from Rees. I think, too, that he does not mean to
break with Christianity or with us, and I faintly hope that his
experiences with us will do us good, though they have been most
painful to us. I think you'll find him much more tractable than he
would have been had he not been through these troubles with us.

'Hsing has had the devil putting philosophic doubts into him. I
have pressed him to pelt the devil with Scripture, as our Master
did.

'Li, shoemaker, I _do_ like. He cannot stay to Sunday service. I
take him before service therefore.

'Fu does well. Last Friday he remained after prayer-meeting, and
talked till 9.40 about all manner of things secular and sacred. He
has most pleasant remembrances of Emily--Emily, too, liked him.

'Jui Wu, the powder magazine man, is in a more hopeful case. He may
come all right yet.[5]

[5] Fu is now (1892) an evangelist, and Jui Wu a dispenser, in the Chi Chou Mission.

'Old Tai nearly went, but will now, I think, remain till you come.
He wants to tiffin with me on Sundays, and enjoys much four, five,
or six small cups of good strong tea with milk and sugar. He is
growing in grace.

'Young Tai I am detaining after his father goes and reading with
him and teaching him. He gives up his trade for the day, and I want
to give him a good day.

'Chao Erh attends well and is improved in circumstances.

'Lu Ss[)u] is in his old trade, and doing well. He comes on Sundays
when he comes. He was the man I hoped least of, and as yet he
pleases me almost most.

'Lama comes to-morrow to finish reconstructing Mongol catechism. I
may go on a two months' journey to Mongolia, starting in December.
I'll have to see the children to Tientsin in February, and want to
meet you.

'Hs¸s as they were.[6]

[6] Father and son; the only native preachers in the West City of Peking at that time.

'I am very much encouraged and thankful about the little Church. I
can honestly say that I have tried to do my best for it during
your absence, and God has encouraged me a good deal in it. I have
reaped some that you have sown, and have endeavoured to sow
something for you to reap when you return.

'I sometimes have deep fits of the blues when I think of the
children, but their mother was able to trust Jesus with them, and
why should not I?

'The Mongol work, too, has entered on a new phase, and that opens
up a new future for me. It is a formidable affair. I don't think
I'll go to Kalgan or that region. I fear no doctor would stay with
me there. I may go away North-east. I can hardly tell yet.
Meantime, with God's help, I hope to do another month's work in
Peking, and then hand the thing over to Rees once for all. Most of
my books I'll sell. What use are they to me? I never have time to
read them, and am not likely ever to have.'

The letter just quoted was written after the sad event to which we must now refer. Towards the close of the summer of 1885 Mr. Gilmour awoke to the fact that one of the heaviest sorrows of his life was coming upon him. For some years past Mrs. Gilmour had been subject to severe attacks of pain. The visit to England and the rest and change of the old home life had in a measure restored her. But hardly were they comfortably established in their old Peking quarters ere some of her most trying symptoms reappeared. With that brave heart and resolute spirit characteristic of her whole missionary career, for a time she gave herself to the duties of the mission and bore her full share of its anxieties and toils. But gradually she was constrained to recognise that her active work was over. From the first she had thrown herself whole-heartedly into missionary Service. She could converse fluently with the Mongols, having acquired their language in the same way as her husband, by enduring repeatedly all the privations of life in a Mongol tent. She had impressed them by her fondness for animals, by her gentleness of spirit, and by her evident interest in all that bore upon their own welfare. In Peking she had laboured hard among the women and girls, both in the matter of education and also of direct religious instruction. A very bitter element in her cup of sorrow was the conviction gradually forced upon her that her power to do this work was fast slipping away. In a letter to her sister, Mrs. Meech, then in England, dated May 2, 1885, she gives the first clear expression to this feeling: 'I would have written before, but I have been ill for about six weeks; not actually ill, except one week, but not able to do anything except the children's lessons and the harmonium on Sundays sometimes. All the rest has had to go. I am sorry, but it can't be helped. How long it will last I don't know. I can't get stronger, so I must be content to be tired. I am nothing more than weak, and a great many people are that. There has been a grand revival here. It seemed to pass like a mountain torrent, while I had only to look on and see. My only wonder was that people had lived so long without the happiness that they might have had for the taking. I didn't want to go to the meeting, I felt so weak and unable to bear the tension of spiritual excitement. But as it was it didn't tire me at all, but made me love a lot of the people. May the Chinese feel the flood tide of new life that has come into Peking! And they must, there can be nothing to hinder it.'

The reference in the last part of this letter is to a great deepening of spiritual life that took place among the missionaries, and also among some of the European residents in Peking.

The first explicit reference by Mr. Gilmour to his coming sorrow occurs in the Diary; but in his report, sent home a month later, and dated August 4, 1885, he wrote: 'Mrs. Gilmour is very ill, and now very weak. I fear all hope of her recovery is taken away. Her trouble is a run-down, but the serious complication is her lungs. We are at the hills in a temple with another family, the Childs. Mrs. Child came out in the same ship with Mrs. Gilmour, when, as Miss Prankard, she came first to China. Mrs. Child renders invaluable service to the sick one.'

In the Diary the following entries show the course of sorrowful events:--

'_July 4, 1885._--It really dawns upon me to-day in such a way that
I can feel it that my wife is likely to die, and I too feel
something of how desolate it would be for me with my motherless
children sent away from me. Eh, man!'

'_August 22._--Emily spoke of being sometimes _so_ happy. She is
quite aware now she cannot recover.'

'_September 13_, Sunday, Peking.--Emily saw all the women. She felt
very weak to-day. Remarked at 7 P.M.: "Well, Jamie, I am going, I
suppose. I'll soon see you there. It won't be long." I said she
would not want me much there. She said fondly she would. "I think
I'll sit at the gate and look for you coming." Said she has been
out for the last time. Asked me not to go to chapel, but went.'

'_September 17._--To-day, in the morning, I promised Emily that I
would remain home from the chapel and give her a holiday. She was
_so_ pleased. We had a most enjoyable afternoon. She was so happy.
She sat up for an hour or so, and we conversed about all things,
the use of the beautiful in creation, &c.'

All the next day Mrs. Gilmour slowly sank, and soon after the midnight of September 18 passed peacefully within 'the gate.' The story of the closing scene was thus told by her husband:--

'Peking: Saturday, September 19, 1885.

'My dear Meech,--Emily crossed the river last night, or this
morning rather at 12.15.

'I was called in from the Friday evening prayer meeting just as it
was concluding, and found her with laboured breath and fixed eyes.
For a time we thought it was all to end at once. After a time she
got over it.

'10 P.M. was a repetition of 8 P.M.'s experience.

'At 12 midnight she was labouring much in her breath, coughed a
very little cough, and all at once the rapidity of her breath
nearly doubled, suddenly her hand fell over powerless, her eyes
became fixed, there was some difficult breathing, and with Mrs.
Henderson on the one side of the bed, which had been moved when we
came from the hills into the sitting-room, she departed.

'During these four hours she spoke little; once or twice she called
for milk, but for the most part contented herself with assenting or
dissenting to and from my remarks and suggestions by moving the
head.

'At 10.30, seeing me sleepy and desiring to sleep herself, she
asked me to go and lie down, but I said I would not do so while she
was so ill.

'I asked her if she felt all safe in the hands of Jesus. She nodded
her assent.

'Some month or six weeks ago we two had talked about everything to
be done in case of her death, the children, etc., and not only
then, but more than once we had talked over spiritual things,
because we feared that when the end came she might not be able to
speak. I am glad we did so. During these four hours she was either
in such great distress, or, when free from distress, was so tired
and eager to sleep, that talking was hardly possible.

'The "Rest" she so longed for she has now got.

'I treasure what she said one day when she had been, I think,
reading her wall text, "T_o me to live is Christ, to die is gain_,"
when I asked her if _she_ felt it so. She said she did, and often
would remark that to go would be far better for her, but she was so
eager to get well for my sake and that of the children. For
herself, too, she was more and more enchanted with the beauty God
had put in the world. On Friday I went in, she waved her hand and
said, "What beauty!" It was some flowers on the table. A bunch of
grapes, a beauty, filled her mouth with praise to God for all His
goodness to her. The post waits. Funeral Monday.

'Yours in sorrow,
'J. GILMOUR.'

Mrs. Gilmour was buried on September 21. Her faith was clear and strong. Uncommon as their courtship had been, the subsequent married life was very happy. She was the equal of her husband in missionary zeal and enthusiasm, and he himself bears testimony to the unerring skill which she possessed in gauging the moral qualities of the Chinese. She gave much time and labour to Christian work among the women and girls in Peking; and her husband was greatly helped in his work during the nearly eleven years of married life by her sound judgment, her strong affection, her loving Christian character, and her entire consecration to the Lord Jesus Christ.