WESTERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE

June 10, 1874

Will the readers of the Advocate follow me, in their imaginations, in a ramble through the streets of Kiukiang? Leaving the avenue which passes through the Concession, or part allotted to foreigners, we find ourselves on the main street, winding its way through the suburbs. It is about a quarter of a mile to the city gates; and there are more than a hundred shops and stores to pass. The street is twelve or fourteen feet in width; and the stone pavement running through the midst has been worn to almost slippery smoothness by the tread of countless generations. All day long the place is thronged with Chinese, passing back and forth, and trading in the stores. We shall meet ragged coolies carrying all kinds of loads from neat bales of merchandise to buckets of sewerage, suspended on bamboo sticks swung across their shoulders; beggars, covered with ulcers, rags, and dirt; well-dressed literati; blind men led along by little boys; lean, scabby, half-starved dogs, barking savagely as we pass; lazy stupid pigs, fattening on the filth they gather up in the street; and, perchance, a Chinese official or two, borne along in sedan-chairs, and preceded by a troop of boys bearing flags and banners; and men with tin horns and other noisy instruments, giving notice of the dignitary's approach. The sanitary measures of this people are regulated with as little regard to decency as health; and, until we have become accustomed to it, the stench is almost intolerable. Still it is not quite so bad here as in the streets of Pekin, where Bishop Harris testified he counted seventy-two distinct and well-defined smells; and, as a bishop is supposed to be of too dignified a character to indulge in levity, we do not feel at liberty of doubt the strict veracity of his statement.

What a variety of shops and stores! Dry-goods stores, groceries, paper manufactories, blacksmith shops where men and boys are hammering and rasping and filing from early morn to dark, stores with ranges of shelves loaded with beautiful crockery-ware, shoe-shops, banks, eating saloons, barber-shops, etc. Here is a store with fancy pictures, executed in Chinese style; in another we see lanterns hung up, open at both ends, and the glass sides of which are ornamented with beautiful painting of birds and flowers. We pick our way slowly through the crowd, and, after meeting and passing perhaps two hundred people, besides as many more busy trading in the stores, we come to the city wall. It is twenty-five or thirty feet in height, built of brick, and venerable with antiquity. Passing through the arched gateway, we find ourselves on the street leading directly through the heart of the city. Dogs and pigs and beggars and noisy crowds still impede our progress. Here is a carpenter-shop, where tubs and pails and chairs are made, and where large, heavy, unwieldy coffins are laid up on one side, ready for use. From the ceiling of this store is suspended a perfect forest of Chinese umbrellas; and in that one, gauze lanterns and trinkets of every variety delight the eye. Here is a shop where men are busy rolling out fire-crackers by the myriad, to be used in the superstitious rites of which these people are so fond. After going another quarter of a mile, and passing one hundred and seven more shops and stores, we come to the Mission Chapel. It is a room fronting directly on the street, and open the entire length, so that the tones of the speaker may arrest the attention of the passers-by. The floor is a loose pavement of stone; and there are benches enough to accommodate near a hundred persons, with standing-room for as many more.

It is the hour for afternoon service, and brother Hart mounts the rude stand at the further end which serves for a pulpit, and begins to converse in a familiar way with the two or three Chinamen loitering around. The sound of the foreigner's voice attracts the attention of many passing by, and they drop in, one after another, sometimes five or six at a time, and, with a look of wonder and curiosity on their faces, sit down to hear, perhaps for the first time, the story of the cross. There go a couple of coolies, bearing a heavy load between them. They have almost passed by the chapel, when they notice the crowd listening to the foreigner's talk; they stop, set down their burden, and come in a take their places with the rest. Here comes a tattered beggar, leading in a small, doleful-looking dog; the poor creature is frightened half out of its wits, and crouches down piteously, under his feet, while he dryly lifts its head up and turns it in the direction of the speaker, as if anxious for it to listen. The people throng in until the chapel is almost filled; some are sitting, some standing, but all listening with deep attention. One man, right in front of the speaker, gazes with especial interest upon his face, and manifests his approval of what is being said by an emphatic nod of assent at the close of every sentence. Brother Hart is a good man, with his soul full of religion; and as he becomes warmed up with his theme, and shows and increasing earnestness, the people on their part manifest a corresponding deepening attention. They crowd up close and around the stand; they look right up into the speaker's face; they hang on his words as if fascinated. God alone knows whether their hearts are being moved; but surely the interest they manifest is encouraging. Many of them would remain for hours, if the preaching would be continued.

But now brother Hart sits down, and his helper, Ch'en Tso, gets up. Ch'en Tso is a young man, with a handsome, open, intelligent countenance; but his voice is weak, and does not reach those on the outskirts of the crowd. Besides, the people are not so much interested in his talk as in that of the foreigner, and some begin to drop out; but the majority remain, listening attentively to the very close. Among those who go away is our waggish friend, the beggar, leading off his wretched dog, destined, perhaps, before 24 hours, to be served up as minced-meat on his scanty table. After Ch'en Tso finishes, and a few books and tracts are sold, the crowd disperses. Day after day they come in to hear the truths of the Gospel expounded; and day after day they listen with unabated interest. Their minds are prejudiced, and their hearts are stolid and indifferent, and wedded to their own idolatrous customs; but they will listen to the Christian minister as he teaches them the principles of his religion, and strives to win them over to it. Year after year the seed is scattered among them, in the earnest hope that by the Spirit's influences the grain will be "fostered and matured for garners in the sky." And he whose word does not return to him void, doubtless watches over it.

Gladly we hasten back over the filthy street and through the jostling crowds, and find ourselves once more in the pure atmosphere of the Concession. The sun is just going down behind the dark waves of the Yangtsekiang. May the time speedily hasten when his setting rays shall glisten the spires of as many Christian Churches as they now gild the peaked cornices of heathen temples! A. S.