Shui Chang, China,

Nov. 23d, 1876.

Dear Sister Rose:

My letter is dated, as you see, at the very place where Bro. Hykes and I, two years ago, passed "through tribulations," as we were escorted out of the city by an infuriated mob with bricks, stones, kicks, and cuffs, and a thorough ducking in the muddy canal to boot. We have now been quietly established in the place for six or eight months, and the people in general are peaceful and kindly disposed. I aim to visit our chapel here once a month, generally coming by water in a native boat, but yesterday I came across the country in a chair. I stay until to-morrow, and as I have more leisure here than at home, I improve an hour or two to-day in penning you a letter, which must go on Saturday.

It is not at all an interesting trip overland from Kiukiang here, and -- for that reason, I suppose -- I shall proceed to give you some incidents of the journey. The people throughout China are everywhere alike in appearance and habits, their houses (or huts) and villages are the same, their methods of farming are the same, and there is nothing about them or about all they have that is in the least attractive or good looking. I passed several ripe buckwheat fields on the way, where men were busy reaping the grain, and in some places flailing it out on earthen floors. Each time I passed one of these places it awakened reminiscences of the old (and dilapidated) Blue Run farm, over whose hills I clambered for fourteen years. At other places I saw men plowing or harrowing in the spring crop. Once I met "a weary ploughman plodding his homeward way," having across his shoulders a bamboo stick, on one end of which was suspended his plow and on the other his harrow, while he was driving his solitary ox before him. The Chinese plow and harrow are quite similar in construction to those in use in foreign lands, though, as may be inferred, they are not quite so heavy.

At another part of the route I met a long train of squeaking wheelbarrows, transporting huge bales of native cotton towards Kiukiang. The Chinese wheelbarrow is a ponderous, ungainly thing, consisting of a large wheel fitted into the center of a piece of framework. This framework is so constructed that people can sit on each side and lean their backs against the raised portion of the framework which covers the wheel. A huge bale of cotton, weighing several hundred pounds, was fastened on each side of the wheelbarrow, and the men were wheeling along their big loads, sweating under their exertion, and seemingly ready to drop from fatigue. At one place I met one of these men as he was slowly and painfully wheeling his load along the edge of a pond by the roadside. Just before me was a countryman holding in his hand one end of a straw rope, the other end being fastened around the body of a live porker, which he was trying to get past the wheelbarrow. The pig, obstinately contesting the right of way, or perhaps seeking a refuge from its master's whip, ran under the bale of cotton, nor could the man with all his strength drag it back. Up heaved the pig, and over went the barrow (no pun is intended here), turning a complete summerset, and landing the cotton bales plump in the water. It is but just to say that they buoyed up the wheelbarrow beautifully. Did the pig-man stop and apologize, and offer his assistance in dragging out the wheelbarrow and its load? No. His porkship, finding the coast clear, proceeded quietly on his way, followed by his master with sundry oaths and strokes of the whip, but who never turned his head to regard the enraged Chinaman behind him.

So much for "jottings by the wayside." Though it is the last week in November, the weather is quite pleasant, and I sit in my chapel here writing, without a fire, or hardly feeling the necessity of one. I received a long and good letter from you by the last mail, which came in a day or two before the mail went out which took away a letter to father. I had written the letter before receiving yours, and thought I would not answer yours until the next mail. Your letter was very interesting, and I hope you will always fill your letters with home incidents. I am wondering much who your new preacher is. I pity Bro. Loomis very much; he has been an unfortunate man ever since I knew him, and I declare I cannot tell the reason. In regard to that colt which seems to be a theme of controversy, I thought my other letter to you was explicit enough on all those points. I do not feel as though I had any more claim to the colt, than I have to the Emperor of China's last pig; but if father or any one else is disposed to regard me as entitled to any such claim, I do here in the most direct and solemn terms cede all such claim, real, supposed, or fictitious, to you, and you may take care of the colt, rear him, and ride him to death for all I care or ever will care in the matter. I hope you will none of you trouble me any more about your sublunary affairs, that is, by asking my advice or consent to this, that or the other. I am too far above all such things now -- no less than 8,000 miles; and I trust you will not consider me hereafter as entitled to any produce of the farm, which belongs only to those who cultivate and manage it. I am well provided for, never being embarrassed for funds, and handling more money in a year than I suppose all of the home folks put together; so don't worry for me any more. The Missionary Society does not neglect its representatives when they have been sent to a foreign field.

I am very much grieved over the deplorable state of the Blue Run society, which was once known far and wide for its spiritual prosperity. Suppose the Church at home were to retrograde in a similar manner; how dark would seem the fate of Christianity. Of course, removed at such a distance, I can do nothing or say nothing that would remedy matters in the least; but it did my heart good to read what you said about Bro. Colegrove. You say he quit attending Church for a time, but came back again because he did not feel that he was doing right by staying away. It would be a very unwise step for Christians to take to abandon the Church because of the wrong and disorder in it. Let them stay in it and by their influence seek to purify and regulate it. The ship which carries you across the ocean may be full of pirates, scoundrels, and vagabonds, but it is better to stay on board among them than to jump into the sea. My advice to all sincere Christians who are lamenting over the sad state of a ruined society is, "Don't give up the ship."

Well, I must bring my letter to a close. I am enjoying excellent health, and have everything in life to make me happy, cheerful, and contented. Daily do I remember the friends around the home circle in my prayers to our common Heavenly Father. The religion of Jesus is our pearl of greatest price; let us never give it up.

Kindly extend my cordial greetings to Bro. Field, Bro. Grimshaw, Bro. Varner, Bro. Wm. Colegrove, Bro. Wyatt, and all the other Blue Run friends. Gladly would I look into their faces once more, and feel the warm grasp of their hands.

Your loving brother,

A. Stritmatter