MISSIONARY LIFE IN KIUKIANG

BY REV. A. STRITMATTER

Our friends in America may be glad to know that though in the midst of a heathen country, we have plenty to eat and to wear, with good houses to live in, and as many comfortable surroundings as we could desire. Our food does not consist simply of rice, with a savory steak of dog or rat served up now and then, which are supposed to be the favorite dishes among the Chinese, but we adhere tenaciously to the diet we were accustomed to in civilized lands. Through the enterprise of foreign merchants, we are enabled to put on our tables canned fruits of rich variety from America or England, raisins from California, jams from Scotland, condensed milk from New York, etc.; besides the usual solid fare of meat, bread, and potatoes. The cooking is done by native servants who require only a little instruction to enable them to serve up our dishes in the most approved foreign style.

Our community is small, numbering only some thirty or more English and Americans, besides a few of other nationalities. A neat little church has been built in the Concession by the British Government, the spire of which tops far above surrounding buildings, and may be seen for miles out in the country. It is the most cheering sight there is to a missionary just arriving at Kiukiang. Every Sabbath morning the clear tones of the bell ring out the hour for assembling to worship the Christian's God. The service is conducted after the form of the Established Church, the missionaries taking turns in reading it, and the sermon, if any, is usually short. As we are all hearty Methodists, with more or less dislike for mere formalities in public worship, we would much prefer our own simple ritual; but the community, being attached to the Established service, would hardly tolerate any thing else. The average attendance of our congregations varies from eight to twelve; which is as large a proportion of the people, perhaps, as attend church in New York or Cincinnati: so that we do not complain. As a rule, outside of the missionaries in China, there is little genuine piety among foreigners; and the great majority of them seem to care as little for the Christian religion as the heathen themselves. Little or no respect is paid to the Sabbath; men who would fain pass as genteel and well-bred members of society live in open adultery with heathen women; and those engaged in the opium-trade are scattering misery broadcast over this vast nation. Even those of the foreign population, whose moral character is unimpeachable, will generally be found to be deeply skeptical in the most vital doctrines of Christianity, so that few ministers in America have the remotest idea of how difficult it is to reach this people from the pulpit.

Of course, the missionaries who are able to preach have little time for any thing else than their labors with the natives; one service being conducted in each chapel every day, and two or three on Sunday. Yet we feel that we must have, now and then, a religious service in our own tongue and, in addition to that in the church each Sabbath

morning, we assemble every Sabbath evening for a social prayer meeting, where we seldom fail to have our spiritual strength renewed. Without confining ourselves to the dead letter of an established ritual, or in any way imposing formal restraints upon each other, we sing and talk and pray freely with one another, in the good old way to which we were accustomed in our Methodist meetings at home. The missionaries are usually the only persons who attend; but there are enough of us to claim the promise to "two or three." And as our voices mingle together in the beautiful strains of "Jesus, lover of my soul!" and all those grand and inspiring hymns of Wesley and Watts, and as our hearts, catching the flame of devotion, ascend in unison to the God who seems just as near to us as he did in our own country, we fail to realize that we are four hundred and fifty miles in the interior of the mightiest heathen nation in the world.

Twice a month the even tenor of our every day life is broken in upon by the arrival of the American mail. Ah! with what eager anticipations we look forward to this event! and how we are disposed to chafe and murmur if the steamer happens to be tardy in its arrival! And when our letters and papers, just fresh from the father-land, are spread out upon our desks, we go through them with an avidity and relish our distant friends scarcely realize. Every little item is of interest. Every column of our dear old home papers is closely scanned. There are tidings of revivals, in which we are no longer privileged to take a part; extraordinary popular movements, such as the Women's Crusade against whisky, which have been inaugurated two months before we hear of them; and important and interesting changes in State legislation and in the General Government. Now and then comes a letter with that ominous black seal, which sends a dread chill through our hearts; and we learn that a brother or sister, or other beloved relative or friend, has been stricken down by the hand of death. Thank God, we have something better to turn to for comfort, under such afflictions, than the philosophy of Herbert Spencer and Stuart Mill! How often we can say, as our hearts quiver under the newly inflicted wound, that one more tie that bound us to earth has been severed, and a new and powerful link is drawing us heavenward! "For we know that if the earthly house of our tabernacle be dissolved, we have a building of God, a house but made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord! A. S.