In August 1884 a third son was given to Mr. and Mrs. Gilmour, whom they named Alexander. In 1887 spinal trouble developed, and in December of that year he died. 'Though often ill,' wrote his father when announcing the death to the uncle after whom he had been named, 'his life was a happy one. It is now happier than ever. Thanks be to God that there is, and that we know that there is, a bright and happy life beyond. Let us make that the great meeting-place for ourselves and our children and friends. May it stand before us as a joy! As ever and anon one and another goes there, may we feel that we have more and more interest there! Let us live looking to the joy set before us!' This baby-brother is the Alick referred to in the following letter:—
'Ta Chêng Tzŭ, Mongolia: February 11, 1888.
'My dear Sons,—I am well, and thankful for it. I got here two days ago. I had such a cold time of it on the road! I never felt the cold so much before.
'People here are very busy. This is the last day of the Chinese year.
'To-morrow is the first day of the Chinese year. Everybody is buying all sorts of food, because the shops do not open for some days after the new year. They are very busy, too, scraping off the old papers at the sides of their doors and pasting up new papers. They (the papers) are red, and look fine at first with the great black Chinese characters written on them. But the sun after a while takes the colour out of them.
'They are busy, too, pasting up the new gods in their houses. They (the gods) are sheets of paper with pictures of gods on them. Every house has a god of the kitchen. They send him to heaven, as they think, by burning him. They burnt the old one last Saturday. They are putting up the new one now. They think that when he is burnt he goes to heaven and reports to a god what he has seen in the house during the year. I ask them if I burnt them would they think they were going to heaven? They buy sticky sugar-cakes to give him so that he may be pleased, and not tell on them for doing evil things. They think, too, that the sugar sticks his lips together, so that when he wants to tell on them he can't get his mouth open! Isn't it all very silly and very sad? The shopkeepers, too, paste up a "god of riches," thinking that thus they will become rich!
'To-morrow (Sunday) I hope to baptize a man. He is a Chinaman. That will make four Christians here. They all have faults and weaknesses, and I am not very easy in my mind about them. Pray that God may make them better and make them grow in grace. Pray, too, that God may convert more of the people. Pray, too, that God may give us a house of our own to live in. People here are afraid to let us have a house. Now that Dr. Roberts is coming, we will need a house. He is coming in six or seven weeks. Then he stays two months, and goes back to Tientsin for a while again. We saw the Christian at Tá Ssŭ Kou as we passed. The Ch'ao Yang man we have not seen yet.
'I have made all your letters to me into a book, and have them with me. Your letters are nice to read, and show great improvement in the writing. I am going to keep all your letters this year too and bind them. You may like to see them when you grow big. The last letter from you is dated October 27.
'My dear sons, I think of you often and pray for you much.
'You have a photo of mamma's grave. Little Alick's little mound is close to mamma's, on the side nearer little Edie's. Mamma's and Alick's coffins touch down below. They lie together. But mamma and Alick are not there. They are in heaven, with its golden streets and its beautiful river, and its trees of life, and its beautiful gates, and its good, loving, kind people, and Jesus and God. They are having such a nice time of it there!
'My boys, don't be afraid of dying. Pray to Jesus, do the things He likes, and if you die you will go to Him, to His fine place, where you'll have everything that is nice and good. I don't know whether you or I will go there first, but I hope that by-and-by we'll all be there, mamma and Alick and all. I like to think of this. Meantime let us be doing for Jesus all we can, telling people about Him and trying to persuade them to be His people. Are your schoolfellows Jesus' boys? Do you ever tell them of Him? Tell them, my dear sons.
'I hope to get letters from you in about a month.
'Good-bye, my dear boys.
'May you be good and diligent, and then you'll be happy. Jesus can make you glad.
'Your loving Father,
'James Gilmour.'
Mrs. Meech had shown much motherly kindness to her little nephew Alexander, and only a few months after he had died she herself lost a little son. Mr. Gilmour, on hearing the sad tidings, wrote to her as follows:—
'Mongolia: March 25, 1888.
'My dear Mrs. Meech,—Many congratulations and condolences with you. Your little son has gone to Emily. She'll look after the little man as you looked after her little man. Just fancy! we have family connections in heaven not a few, and ever increasing. I hope you are now getting better and going on all right.
'I am much cheered by the good news of soul movements in the West Mission. May they continue and increase!
'With many prayers for you all, and kept in constant remembrance of you all by the date block,
'Yours in loving sympathy,
'James Gilmour.'
'May 30, 1888.
'I am doctoring a little homeless lad's head here. I put on ointment all over it to-day. He cried. I said I had medicine that would stop the pain, and brought out six cash—one farthing—and told him to go and have a bowl of buckwheat meal strings. All laughed, he stopped crying, and did not seem to feel the pain after that. Most of the people in the town are much impressed with the improvement in the boy's head. Before he came to me I saw a Chinese medicine-man poking at the lad's head with a straw. When he came I rubbed on ointment with my finger. The bystanders were much pleased to see I was not averse to touching the poor dirty lad's sore head. Jesus touched a leper, and I like to do things like what Jesus would do. That is the right way, boys. Always think what Jesus would have done, and do like Him.'
'Mongolia: Sept. 9, 1888.
'My dear Sons,—I am out on a journey. I knew letters were being sent me, and hoped to meet them. A long way off I saw a red umbrella, the sun shining through the oilcloth. The thought passed through my mind, "Can that be the messenger?" But I forgot all about it, reading a book as I walked along. All at once I heard, "He's come," and looking up, saw the red umbrella close at hand. It was him. The messenger returns to-morrow. I had had no letters for eighty days.
'I wrote you last on August 2. Since then several men have professed Christ, and one man has been baptized.
'One of the Christians at Ta Chêng Tzŭ stole my bankbook and drew money of mine, amounting to about 3l. He says he is penitent, and we have put him on a year's probation to see how he does. He is a lazy man. Long ago I said, "If you are lazy, some day the devil will make you a sinner," and so he did. Had he been a diligent man he would not have been poor and would not have stolen. Diligence is a good thing, laziness is a bad thing. A good Christian cannot be lazy, because he knows Jesus does not like lazy people. I may write you again in a few days. Hoping next mail to get a letter from you (there was none this mail), and asking God to bless you in everything, and guide you in all your life,
'I am your loving Father,
'James Gilmour'
'Ch'ao Yang, Mongolia: Saturday, November 17, 1888.
'My dear Sons,—On the street to-day I saw a crowd standing. I went up to see what they were looking at, and found two Chinese gentlemen showing off a trained bird. One of the men stood down on the street. The other put three little flags so that they stuck on the wall. The bird then flew away, caught up a flag, and came flying back to its master in the street, carrying the flag in its bill. It looked very clever. Every time the bird brought a flag it was rewarded by being fed with some nice food which it liked. It was very pretty to see it. But after all it was a very trifling employment for two grown gentlemen to be engaged in. Even the crowd of ordinary Chinese seemed to think so.
'I don't like to see birds in captivity. It is pretty to see them wild flying about, and to hear them singing, but I pity them in cages, and tied by string as the Chinese are fond of doing with them. When I see birds tied I often think of mamma who used so much to like to see them wild.
'I remember one day in Mongolia mamma stopped me from plucking a flower; she said it looked so pretty growing. Another time a beetle flew and alighted somewhere; mamma said, "It is so glad that it is alive, don't hurt it."
'I am a good deal distressed to see the boys in the market-place. They steal just as much as ever they can from the sellers of straw and fuel, pluck out handfuls from the bundles and run away not at all ashamed. If the owner does not chase them they get off with it. If he throws down his load and runs after them they drop the plunder, the owner picks it up, and no more is said about it.
'In summer little naked boys follow people carrying fruit in open baskets and steal it as they can: it all seems so dishonest, and no one seems to care. On the street lots of people will see a thief stealing a man's pipe and never say a word, because it is not their business.'
'I often think of you and pray for you. You do not forget mamma, I am sure. She is with Jesus. Be you His lads, and do your lessons well, and He'll guide you all through life. Be diligent and careful lads, and you'll grow up useful and honoured men. Constantly tell Jesus all your affairs.
'Goodbye meantime, my boys.
'Much love from your affectionate Father,
'James Gilmour.'