A Woman’s Work among Women.
MISS HATTIE MILTON, MEMPHIS.
My mission, thus far, has been mostly to the lowly. The first step was to become acquainted with the people and secure their confidence, which had to be accomplished in various ways; sometimes by taking a great interest in the children, lending them books, giving them pictures, candy, toys, etc., or by giving the mother a little assistance or advice about her work. Sickness affords a good opportunity. I visited one family where the mother had been helpless for some time from a beating given her by her husband. I dressed her wounds, made clothing for her infant, washed and dressed it, set the neighbors to work, and thus secured the confidence of the whole neighborhood; now I am welcomed into homes where before I was treated with coldness and suspicion. I reach a great many through my sick ones.
Some little Sabbath-school girls in Crete, Ill., sent us a box of bedding and clothing, which has been a great help in my work; also, my friends at Romeo, Mich., sent a box of clothing, toys, books, and material for my sewing-school, all of which has been a God-send to me, as I find some very destitute families. The city does nothing for the poor colored people, so my opportunity is all the greater for doing good.
I find many who cannot read and who are very glad to hear the Bible read. Some have even offered to pay me for reading to them, at the same time saying, “You must need it, you dear child, if you have left your friends and home to come and work for the poor colored people.”
It is astonishing how little these people know about the Bible, although they have attended church for years. Those who cannot read find it so hard to understand the preaching, and those who could read a little to them ‘could not give the understanding,’ as they say. When I had finished my Bible reading with one family, they said: “Please, ma’am, come every Sabbath, we get so much more satisfaction from hearing you read than we do anywhere else.” I endeavor to visit them at such hours as not to interfere with their work, and often read and explain the Bible to a woman while she proceeds with her sewing or ironing; however, some insist on laying aside work, saying, “We must give our whole attention to the word of God when we do have a chance to hear it”; and it is quite affecting to have them thank the kind heavenly Father for sending some one to teach them ways they knew not of, and pray to become better women for having received the instruction.
The missionary and those who send her do not lack for prayers from the colored people. I have a Mothers’ Meeting once a week, where I endeavor to teach them from the Bible their duties as mothers and wives; also a sewing-school, where we teach the girls how to cut and make garments, which they buy, when finished, at a low price. I have had so much to do in this part of the work, that one of the teachers has kindly assisted me.
I have over fifty families on my visiting list, and have called on several others and am received cordially by nearly all. I am well pleased with the work, and ought never to cease being thankful for the good and wonderful way in which the Lord has opened this field of labor for me.
Not long since, one of the girls from the senior class came and told me she would like to become a missionary sometime, and asked me to tell her what she could do now, as she wishes to begin to work for Jesus while she is young. She asked me to take her with me on some of my visits among the people, which I shall be glad to do. I think one of the good results of this work is that it tends to set the colored people to work for themselves, as they are glad to do, but did not know how to go to work; they need instruction in this as in everything else.
KENTUCKY.
Berea College.
While the echoes of Merry Christmas are ringing in our ears, and good dinners and joyous family greetings are still bright spots in our memories, it may be interesting to hear of a Gospel Feast in Berea, Ky. Our good steward, of the Boarding Hall, conceived the plan of going out into our highways and hedges and inviting those most destitute to dine with him. Over the hills and the valleys went the joyful tidings into many a log-hut—“Mr. H. done ’vite us to a big dinner at de Hall.”
Aside from teachers and their wives, no white folks were admitted within those doors as guests. At an early hour, the large parlor began to fill. To those of us who were late, it required no little moral courage to enter a room so well filled, and go through the ordeal of hand-shaking. The walls were lined with people, and from their sober, dignified looks, one could easily imagine it a funeral occasion. They seemed conscious of the dignity of the hour, and were prepared to maintain it at any cost. Men sat modestly far away from the women. The costumes would have driven “Worth” distracted. Surely, never could he have devised so many ways of “doing up” the female form. Bits of ribbon, faded and old, stray pieces of lace pinned here and there in charming abundance, and with a lofty indifference to such minor matters as harmony or usefulness. One large figured gown of prominent yellow shades, made conspicuous the form of an old woman, who seemed, like her gown, to have awakened out of a Rip Van Winkle sleep, or been unearthed from some old ruin. It reminded us of the days of Dolly Varden, and was not very unlike the Chinese and Japanese cloths which to-day we try to think pretty. But it would be impossible to attempt a description of the toilettes. Necessity made a virtue of all sorts of combinations; and if they were not beautiful, they seemed to give the wearers the feeling of being dressed—a feeling not always accomplished under happier circumstances.
As we went from one to another, it certainly relieved the monotony to hear them say, “Ki, yi! dars Miss Lizzie,” “How d’ye, honey,” and so on. From the men came the stiffest bows and politest concern for our health. Knowing but few in the party, we hastily found a seat, where we could talk to one about gardens. To another, the never-failing question of babies proved interesting; and thinking of the little black ones, I thought in God’s sight they might be as fair as my own. It took so long for one old dame to tell of her “rheumatiz” and general “misery,” that our sympathy, which was real, almost cooled before the lengthy recital was ended. During all that long hour not a loud laugh was heard from those laughter-loving people.
At length, to the relief of us all, the great doors opened, and the eager old children could contain themselves no longer, and almost broke ranks and ran; husbands and wives apart, evidently fearing, as they hurried to their seats, there would not be room for all. Not till the guests were seated did the teachers scatter here and there, glad for once at least to yield the first seat.
What a meal was provided! Of all good things that could be brought from farm or store, there was no lack. The blessing asked, eagerly they began to enjoy what was to them the principal event of the day. Glancing about us, we saw our steward (a man of deeds rather than of words), upon whom all the expense of this feast came, looking around, with beaming eye, over the great company whose hearts he had made glad. We thought of the wife who had stood by his side so many years, helping in every good work, and who would have been there if God had not called her higher. The flushed face of our good housekeeper, who is never too weary or too busy to do a little more, if she can make hearts happy thereby, shone upon us, and we knew her hands had been full for many days. Though her feet were tired, they obeyed the loving heart, and she flew among us like a spirit, watching on all sides that no one should fail to enjoy the dinner.
Looking up the table, our hearts ached, as one face after another brought up the old slave days. Some there were who had risen above every discouragement, and in the face of poverty, low wages and many another hindrance, had proved themselves men, gladly denying themselves the comforts of life, that their children’s days might be brighter than their own. We saw there old men, grown grey in their “massa’s” service, turned out without a dollar, to pinch the rest of their lives to keep from suffering. Women, married in the Lord and in the honesty of their own hearts, considered only as so much property, to be abused or neglected as their masters chose. Beauty was a fearful gift to the race, and many of our colored women do not lack the gift.
One woman we must speak of, who, having neither riches nor sweetness of temper, made it all good in the wealth of names, which can only be equalled in the royal family. I give a few: “Carrie Lee, Bessie Fee, who but she—Bernaugh.” “Isabel, rise and tell, the glories of Immanuel—Bernaugh.” “Raphael Rogers, Alfred Hart, ’Postle Paul, Caleb after all—Bernaugh.” How she abbreviated these names I know not.
The dinner over, the music room quickly filled. Some of our pianists gave sweet music, but so far above a part of the assembly that I’ve no doubt they longed for their “fiddles and banjoes.” By request, they struck up a wailing sound, which rose and fell, with words somewhat after this style:
“The ark’s a movin’, movin’, movin’,
The ark’s a movin’, move right along.”
This was so sad, that something joyful was called for, and again the strain rung out; old men and women moving their bodies to keep their own time, which each one seemed to do regardless of his neighbor, closing up each line, and almost each word, with such hemi-demi-semi-quavers as would have puzzled some of our best singers. Poor things! the elements of joy had not entered into their religious life. The minor strain swept over all their heart experiences, and in spite of the words of their hymns, their music gave us the echo of their days of bondage, and helped us to thank God that a brighter life had been ours. To them seemed to come no middle ground between the “double-shuffle” and the saddest songs for Christ.
After many a hand-shake and parting blessing to us all, the people wended their way back to their homes, some to their rude cabins, saying to one another, “Dis de best day of my life,” “Tank de Lord for dis good day.”
To our steward we gave the conventional good-bye, but in our hearts we knew that there was one blessed passage of Scripture applicable to him, and we doubt not he will hear it some day: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me.”
This is one picture. I shall be glad soon to show the other side, and give the contrast between some of those who were gathered at this feast, and their children, who have enjoyed the privileges of the school at Berea. L. R.
HYMN.
MRS. E. SPENCE.[A]
Sung at the farewell meeting on the departure of Rev. Mr. and Mrs. A. P. Miller, and Rev. Mr. and Mrs. A. E. Jackson, as missionaries to Africa, Nashville, Feb. 18, 1878.
God bless, with special favor,
This consecrated band!
Their trust will never waver,
Led by Thy loving hand!
As to thy call they listen,
Each answers, “Here am I,”
And yet a tear may glisten
Unbidden in the eye!
Thou know’st what ties are breaking
That twine around the heart!
The yearning, and the aching,
When friends and kindred part!
Oh! let them feel Thy presence
Continuously so near,
To compensate the absence
Of all they hold most dear!
As, over land and ocean
They still pursue their way,
The spirit of devotion
Replenish day by day.
When over smooth seas gliding
With hearts attuned to sing,
Or tossed by tempest, hiding
Beneath thy shelt’ring wing!
And when their destination
Is safely reached at last,
Where every mission station
Has boundaries so vast—
Strengthen the willing spirit
For service, till they see
The land which they inherit,
Redeemed and ruled by Thee!
Lord Jesus, lead victorious
The sacramental host,
Until thy kingdom, glorious,
Extend from coast to coast;
The powers of hell be driven
From every conquered zone,
And, even as in heaven,
Thy will on earth be done!
FOOTNOTE:
[A] Mrs. Spence was born in Scotland, in the year that Cary, the first missionary from England, went out upon his pioneer and untrodden way eighty years ago. Her heart has been overflowing with gladness during these days of preparation.
THE INDIANS.
WASHINGTON TERRITORY.
Three Christian Boys and their Letters.
REV. MYRON EELLS, S’KOKOMISH
Our hearts were gladdened, last Sabbath, by receiving into our Church three of the Indian school-boys, each of them supposed to be about thirteen years of age. We had kept them on a virtual probation for nearly a year, until I began to feel that to do so any longer would be an injury both to themselves and to others. Their conduct, especially towards their school-teacher, although not perfect, has been so uniformly Christian that those who were best acquainted with them felt the best satisfied in regard to their change of heart. Said a member of our Church of about fifty years’ Christian experience—who was not here much during the summer, and hence knew comparatively little about them—after hearing a full statement, “I wish that some of the white children whom we have received into the Church had given one half as good evidence of being Christians as these boys give.” And yet the Church was satisfied in regard to them. On religious subjects, they have been most free in communicating both to their teacher and myself by letter. I have thought that you might be interested in extracts from some of them, and hence send the following:
“I am going to write to you this day, please help me to get my father to become a Christian,” (his father is an Indian doctor) “and I think I will get Andrew and Henry” (the other Christian boys) “to say a word for my father. I want you to read it to my father.”
He wrote to his father the following, which I read to him:
“Aug. 3d, 1877.
“My dear-beloved Father: Your son is a Christian. I am going off to another road. I am going in a road where it leadeth to heaven, and you are going to a big road where it leadeth to hell. But now please return back from hell, I was long time thinking what shall I do, then my father would be saved from hell. I prayed to God. I asked God to help my father to become a Christian.”
The letter of another, to his Indian friends:
“You have not read the Bible, for you cannot read, but you have heard the minister read it to you. You seem not to pay good attention, but you know how Jesus was crucified, how he was put on the Cross, how he was mocked and whipped, and they put a crown of thorns, and he was put to death.”
The letter of the other to me:
“O, how I love all the Indians. I wish they should all become Christians. If you please, tell them about Jesus coming. It makes me feel bad because the Indians are not ready.”
To his Indian friends:
“The first time I became a Christian, I found it a very hard thing to do, but I kept asking Jesus to help me, and so He did, for I grew stronger and stronger. So, my Friends, if you will just accept Jesus as your King, He will help you to the end of your journey. You must trust wholly in Jesus’ strength, and yield your will, your time, your talents, your reputation, your strength, your property, your all, to be henceforth and forever subject to His divine control; your hearts to love Him, your tongues to speak for Him, your hands and feet to work for Him, and your lives to serve Him, when and where and as His Spirit may direct. Don’t be proud, but be very good Christians; be brave and do what is right.
“Your Young Friend.”
Indian Welcome to an Agent.
DR. I. L. MAHAN, RED CLIFF, WIS.
The payment recently made to the Bois Forte Indians was one of the most pleasant and agreeable I have ever made. The Indians received me with a salute (of blank cartridges) fired from their guns. On each side of the team, as I passed through their camp, the Indian men, women and children were in line on each side of the road for a quarter of a mile, and such hurrahs and rejoicings I have seldom witnessed.