MISSIONARY LIFE.
In falling in love with Della Lisle at first sight, Philip pleased
himself only and his sister Estelle; that is, if we leave Della out. His
mother had the tall, graceful daughter of a millionaire selected for
him; Leonora, the elder sister, had her pet friend Miss De Rosier,
secretly engaged and under promise; Juliet, the younger, wished him
never to fall in love, never to marry, but to remain forever her dear,
only, adorable brother Philip, for whom she would give up all the world
and live a maiden to the end of her life.
This engagement with Della, however, was not the worst that might be.
They discovered this to their discomfiture when shortly after he
announced to them one morning at the breakfast-table that on the
following week he should leave for Princeton.
A theological course at Princeton! A true-blue Presbyterian, a
long-faced, puritanical minister, who would deem it a sin to laugh,
speak, or wink on a Sunday. And this was what their brother was coming
to. This was why it had been impossible to get him to go with them to
St. Mark's Church, though they had told him how beautifully _High_
Church it was; how it had a high altar and candles, almost like the
Romanists, only that it was not at all Romish, but entirely and truly
Catholic! Was ever such like woful perversity? When they had just got a
brother to be proud of, who could take them to theatres, concerts,
balls, operas, and everywhere, for him to go and degenerate into an old
solemn Presbyterian minister! It would be bearable, if he must be a
minister, if he would only be a High Churchman, and would be called a
priest, and wear the surplice, and read the service in his charming
voice, and be rector of such a fine, rich church as our own St. Mark's!
They could put up with that, because he could still go with them to
places of amusement, and would not be likely to scold them for dancing
all night and sleeping all day. Besides, his praise would be in
everybody's mouth, he would speedily get a D. D. to his name, the ladies
would all admire him, and he would still be their own, own brother. They
wished he had never seen Newberg, nor Colonel Selby's family, nor
Dartmouth College. They forgot or were ungrateful for his transformation
from a state of good-for-nothingism to comparative Christian virtue.
Philip perceived and was pained at the folly and frivolousness of his
mother's household, but any attempt at change more favorable appeared to
him so herculean, that he made scarcely an effort in its behalf. He was
conscious that therein lay neglect of duty; they might owe to him what
he owed to Mary Selby. Often when he thought of her he bowed his head
reverently, and said: I have two saviours--an earthly and a
heavenly--Mary Selby and my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
To the near relatives of Philip his going to Princeton was so much like
burying him, that when, after three years, he returned finally to his
home and announced that in one month he was both to marry and sail as
missionary to Turkey they were scarcely surprised. They made no outcries
and no ado; they had given him up long ago; he would be no company for
them in their rounds of gaiety and fashion; he might as well be teaching
heathens or Musselmen in the kingdoms of the Brother to the Sun as a
dry, dull parson in America, ever in danger of offending their
aristocratic tone and ideas by his sober, old-fashioned notions.
After his marriage, before embarking for Turkey, Philip, with his bride,
paid a visit to Newberg. His second sermon he preached in the Baptist
church. To those simple-minded country people, he stood before them a
living illustration of what the grace of God might effect. Six years
previously he had startled and amazed them, as though he had ridden
through the air on a broomstick; now he came back to them in peace and
gentleness. Before he had laid sacrilegious hands upon the Holy Bible in
the sacred pulpit; now he opened the same reverently and read from
thence the words of eternal life. The change was indeed marvellous, and
Newberg proudly set him down as a second Paul the Apostle.
Della was dreadfully seasick on the ocean voyage, and, as she often
declared, it seemed she never became completely well again. Owing to
this delicate state of her health, the St. Legers did not accompany
their companions to the field assigned them, a small town in the
interior, but remained in Constantinople, at the house of Dr. Adams,
resident Protestant minister of that city.
It was not until after the birth and death of her first child, when her
health became somewhat reinstated, that Della was able to accompany her
husband to their contemplated mission. Here they rejoined their
companions of a year ago; Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, and Mr. and Mrs. Dodd. It
had been a former mission until recently abandoned; the houses, small
and inconvenient at best, had either been appropriated or fallen to
decay.
A few rooms had been made habitable, and here the missionaries had taken
up their abode. Cheerless it seemed and disheartening to Philip and
Della, as they saw no progress at all made in the objects of their long
journey, but every effort consumed in struggles for daily bread.
"What have you been doing?" asked the St. Legers, so wonderingly as to
convey almost a reproach.
"The same as yourselves," retorted the Fishers and the Dodds, "nursing
our healths to make us well."
"We will all begin together then," said Philip pacifyingly.
"As soon as you please; you shall lead and we will follow," answered the
associates.
Notwithstanding this ebullition of energy at the outset, month after
month, nay, year after year elapsed without the least material progress.
What was termed a school would be sometimes kept up for weeks together,
at which some few children could be coaxed to come; but after the
supply of pictures, ornaments, etc., with which they had been attracted
gave out, the attendance languished and the idle urchins sought
amusement elsewhere.
Bibles were flung out with a lavish hand to men, women, and children who
had never before possessed such a treasure as a book; and this book
might for them just as well have been a bundle of old almanacs, for all
printed language was Greek to them. And they, these missionaries, did
not believe that the mere possession of the holy word of God could
impart or draw down God's grace upon the possessor; for that would be
akin to the miraculous, and they eschewed faith in miracles.
An attempt was made at expounding and hearing the word of God on
Sundays. There was good enough will in these expositions, but the ears
and the hearts for receiving were far away. People, it is true, would
come some days in crowds, but it was not for instructions; they went as
young America goes to see a band of turbaned Turks, or Barnum's latest
humbug.
Where was the use of spending so many persons' energies upon such a
stolid, indifferent, intractable people? They were wedded to their
idols, why not leave them alone? Why should they cast pearls before
swine?
These were questions the missionaries asked themselves; and answered
too, if not to their satisfaction, to the best of their ability. Their
time became more and more consumed in the care of their increasing
families.
These missionaries in their home-reports might well speak of hardships.
The women were often sick, help could but rarely be obtained, and then
of the poorest quality; thus these gentlemanly graduates of Yale,
Dartmouth, and Princeton had often not only to cook meals for the
family, but to wash, iron, attend the sick wife and helpless infants,
and suffer all the anxieties and annoyances that human flesh is heir to.
What wonder that they came gradually to lose sight of the grand
aspirations that had animated their early manhood? To forget, as it
were, the objects and aims of their holy mission, and to sink into the
mere _paterfamilias_, like other good masters of families? There seemed
no alternative; the routine of domestic duties must be accomplished; the
sick must be attended to; hungry mouths must be fed, fast-coming forms
must be clothed. Where was the time to go forth seeking the heathen or
compelling him to come in? The wife and children could neither be taken
nor left alone. In fact, the missionaries found to their great surprise,
as all experienced men have found, that the care of a family is a
never-ceasing, all-engrossing responsibility. The outside work could be
very small indeed; all had to centre in that one spot, home. They
cultivated small gardens, and in this way eked out their subsistence on
the small salaries received from the Board of Missions.
Thus lived they from year to year, hopeless of the present, but
overflowing with hopes for the future. Though they could labor not _now_
in Christ's vineyard, they might do so by and by; though they might live
to behold no fruit of their labors, they might, unknown even to
themselves, have sown the good seed, and their children's children, and
the children of heathendom might arise up and call them blessed.
Della Lisle's life--or rather Della St. Leger's--in the land of her
adoption, lasted but five years; she had buried two little children,
who, so brief was their existence, could scarcely be said to have lived
at all. As her third trial was approaching and her health in wretched
state it was deemed best that she should be taken by easy stages to
Constantinople, where English medical advice could be procured. The
journey proved invigorating, and Della landed at Dr. Adams' in almost as
good health as when she had left, more than four years previously.
There was always good company at the house of Dr. Adams. English and
American travelers, whether religious or not, were wont to claim his
hospitality.
Upon the arrival of the St. Legers, a very interesting gentleman was
spending a few days; he bore the common name of Chase, but he was no
common man. Though still in the prime of life, he had traveled the world
over, made himself conversant with all languages, manners, and customs,
studied into all fanaticisms and all religions, and if he had ended in
having faith in none, as such people often do, he admirably kept his own
counsel.
After coffee, the Doctor with his guests withdrew to the open court;
distributing a Turkish pipe to each, he sat himself down upon his
cushion, prepared to listen to this traveled friend with his usual
animation.
Dr. Adams' house being head-quarters for missionaries coming and going,
and Philip St. Leger being at this time the third who had arrived
within a day or two, the others being still present, the conversation
naturally turned upon missionary life.
Now, Mr. Chase was a Yankee; and though a cultivated one, he had not
parted with an innate inquisitiveness, and had an off-hand way of asking
such questions as first presented. He catechised these three
missionaries as faithfully, even in presence of Dr. Adams, as if he had
been President of the American Board. He desired to know the number of
years spent in the work, the size and extent of their missions, the
number of actual converts, and also all about their own families and
modes of living.
Having apparently satisfied himself, Mr. Chase said, wheeling around to
the Doctor:
"The same story. In my various travels I have come frequently across
these missionary stations; you will pardon me if I tell you what you
cannot fail to know, that they are complete failures. In my opinion, the
money might be better expended in planting gunpowder."
The three youthful missionaries opened wide their eyes, but the Doctor
smoked away complacently.