PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS AS ILLUSTRATED BY LETTERS TO RELATIVES AND
FRIENDS
This break in active work affords a convenient occasion for exhibiting
in a still stronger light, by means of selections from his
correspondence, some important sides of James Gilmour's character. He
was a good correspondent and wrote freely to his relatives and friends.
We have quoted largely hitherto from his official reports and from
letters that refer to the condition and progress of his life-work. But
it is in the letters addressed to the circle of relatives and most
intimate friends that he reveals more fully the deeper side of his life,
and the strong and tender affection of his nature.
He corresponded regularly with his parents until the earthly tie was
broken by the death of his mother in 1884 and of his father in 1888. His
letters to the latter were very beautiful, especially those designed to
strengthen his faith in the closing years when he had passed the
eightieth milestone. The tone of the correspondence may be judged from
the following examples:--
'Peking: Friday, January 23, 1885.
'My dear Father,--So this must in future be the heading of my
letters--no longer my dear parents. Mother has gone. Yours of
November 21 reached me this afternoon, or evening rather. As I
came home from the chapel I found a beggar waiting at the gate. I
thought he was going to beg, but he did not. Inside I found the
gate-keeper waiting at our house door for a reply note, to say that
the letter had been delivered. I went to my study, and was praying
for a blessing on the chapel preaching when Emily came. I let her
in. She had your letter in her hand. It had come by Russia, and the
Russian post sometimes sends over our mail by a Peking beggar,
paying him of course.
'I have not had time to think yet. On my heels came in men for the
prayer-meeting we hold in our house on Friday evening, and till now
I have been almost continuously engaged. It is now 10.20 P.M. It so
happens that this week I am much behind in my sermon preparation
for Sunday, and it also happens that I am going to preach on _whole
families_ believing on Christ. What brought this subject to my mind
is one of our old Christians who is dying, the only Christian in
his whole family. His great grief is that they (his family) remain
heathens. In addition, too, a Christian father admitted to a
missionary the other day that he had not taught Christ to his
daughter who had just died. Preaching on this subject I will have
something to say about my own dear, good, anxious mother, and of
how she used to say when I was a boy, "_What a terrible thing it
will be if I see you shut out of heaven!_" She did not say
terrible; "unco" was her word.
'I have not yet had time to realise my loss, and cannot think of
the Hamilton house as being without her. Eh, man! you know how good
a mother she was to us, and I have some idea of what a companion
and help she was to you. You two had nearly fifty years together.
You must feel lonely without her. Fathers and mothers are thought
much of by the Chinese, and you, at my suggestion, were most
heartily and feelingly prayed for by the Chinese at our
prayer-meeting to-night. You would have felt quite touched could
you have heard and understood them.'
There is a special interest attaching to the sentence used frequently by
his mother. On page 41 he refers to his conversion, but no record
appears to have been preserved, giving any detail or fixing with any
exactness the date. But his brothers have a conviction that his constant
recollection of the oft-repeated and well-remembered words, 'What an
unco thing it will be if I see you shut out of heaven!' was one of the
most potent influences in bringing about his conversion. The letters
immediately following were written during the last two years of his
father's life.
'Let us not be disturbed at all about our not having more
communication. I pray often for you and remember you more
frequently still, and feel more and more that earth is a shifting
scene, that here we have no permanent place, that heaven is our
home, that your wife--my dear mother--has gone there, that my wife
has gone there and is now in the Golden City, and that, sooner or
later, you and I will be there, and that, when there, we'll have
plenty of time to sit about and talk all together in a company.
Lately I have come to see that we have but to put ourselves into
the hands of Jesus and let Him do with us as He likes, and He'll
save us _sure and certain_. He can make us willing even to let Him
change us and train us.
'You are eighty years old. I am proud of you. I like to think of
your life. Mother told me, when I was a lad, of some of your early
struggles. God has been with you and guided you on through all to a
good old age of honour and respect and love. Trust Him and He'll
not leave you. Depend upon it, God has something better for us in
the world to come than He has ever given us here. And it is not
difficult to get it. God wants to give it to us all; offers it to
us, and is distressed if we don't take it. We have only to go to
Christ and ask Jesus to make it all right for us, and He'll do it.
I know you are in earnest. Jesus will turn away no earnest man.'
Mr. Gilmour senior acted as steward of the little store which his son by
rigid economy was amassing for the benefit of his children. Scotch
thrift was well exemplified in them both. But in the course of 1887
James Gilmour became troubled about this accumulation of even that small
sum which he could call his own. In his lonely introspective Mongolian
life the possession of money came to wear in his view the aspect of
distrusting God. At this juncture the London Missionary Society was in a
somewhat serious state as regards funds. A special appeal had been sent
out indicating that if additional funds were not forthcoming, some
fields of work might have to be given up. James Gilmour's response was
an order to pay over anonymously the sum of 100_l._ to the general funds
of the Society, and 50_l._ to that set apart for widows and orphans.
'March 16, 1887.
'My dear Father,--Some explanation is due to you of the order to
pay the London Missionary Society 100_l._ 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 protÈgÈs 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.
[Illustration: JAMES GILMOUR'S TENT]
'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 ChÍng Tz[)u]: 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 ChÍng Tz[)u], 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 T· Ss[)u] 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 ChÍng Tz[)u] stole my bankbook and
drew money of mine, amounting to about 3_l._ 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.'