; yyi d V) S LIFE STORIES OF NATIVE HELPERS INDIA - CEYLON - CHINA JAPAN - AFRICA - MEXICO TURKEY ■ THE BALKANS LIFE STORIES OF NATIVE HELPERS IN INDIA - CEYLON CHINA - JAPAN - AFRICA TURKEY - MEXICO THE BALKANS Woman’s Board of M issions 14 Beacon Street Boston, Mass. THE VERMONT PRINTING COMPANY BRATTLEBORO, VERMONT CONTENTS Page Gurubai Karmarkar, M.D., India. 5 Mary Achimuttu Chellayah, Ceylon. 13 Koume Sumiya of Japan. 19 Mrs. Yin of Peking, China. 27 Mrs. Hu Chin Ging of Foochow, China. 31 Anna Felician of Turkey. 37 Fatima Hanum of Bulgaria. 43 Nomdehe, an African Princess. 49 Dona Felicitas of Mexico. 57 Gurubai Karmarkar, M.D GURUBAI KARMARKAR, M.D. One of India s Leading Physicians By Anstice Abbott 'TTjfN a Christian home in Belgaum, Western India, was born jl a baby girl who was named Gurubai. Her father, an able pastor of one of the churches under the London Missionary Society, was determined that the little daughter should have every opportunity for education which he could provide. As a child she was fond of study and soon outgrew the schools at Belgaum, so when she was fourteen, the parents placed her in a mission school in Bombay. During her sojourn in that city she was intimate with the family of one of the Indian pastors and it was natural that a deep affection should develop between Gurubai and the oldest son, Sumantrao Vishnu Karmarkar. Her parents had other plans for Gurubai, for they had many wealthy relatives and looked for a more ambitious marriage, but the young people bided their time. Her schooling completed, she returned home to assume charge of the Girls’ School in Belgaum and to take an active share in church and Sunday school work. Her parents finally consented to her marriage, two years later, to Mr. Kar¬ markar. Mr. Karmarkar was a young man of great promise who had received a fair education and had been licensed by the American Mission as a preacher. Being filled with a longing to preach Christ acceptably and convincingly to his fellow countrymen, and being dissatisfied with his present attainments, he planned to go to the United States for higher study and further prepara¬ tion. Mrs. Karmarkar desired to study medicine that she might help to relieve the awful sufferings of Indian women and children. Their missionary friends encouraged them in their 6 Native Helpers purposes and, in 1888, the preacher and his young wife sailed from Bombay at their own charges. Mr. Karmarkar studied at Hartford Seminary and at Yale, receiving his degree of B.D., from the latter University. Guru- bai, entered the Philadelphia Women’s Medical College, and gave herself enthusiastically to her preparation. While she fully appreciated the great kindness she received on every hand, yet there were occasionally pathetic or comic allusions in her letters home to the difficulty she had in adjusting herself to the new surroundings, especially in the matter of food. There were other difficulties in understanding the technical English of the medical course, and the language and customs of the people among whom she was thrown. When in October, 1893, the now Rev. Sumantrao Karmarkar and his wife, Doctor Gurubai Karmarkar, returned safely to Bombay after their five years’ absence, they were warmly welcomed by a host of friends, Christian and non-Christian, and put on the staff of the Marathi Mission. Mature, in fine health, enthusiastic, they were well-equipped for work. In 1894 they were appointed to Bassein, an important town not far from Bombay, he to evangelistic and educational work and she to medical and evangelistic work among women. Personal description cannot be satisfying, but the general impression of Dr. Gurubai is of one comely, dignified, genial and hospitable, full of energy, and purpose. At Bassein, she was a novelty, wonderful in her accomplishments. Her home was a revelation to the people of what an Indian home might be. Neat, attractive, pure in its atmosphere, having some European comforts and novelties but still the home of an Indian woman. The little organ and Dr. Gurubai’s ability to use it, were a never-failing attraction and her medical skill seemed marvel¬ lous. Although women might be found almost every hour of the day on her veranda, or near it, yet they were slow, at first, to avail themselves of her knowledge, and slower still to under¬ stand the Gospel message from her lips. Slights, contempt, and even abuse, were not wanting in her experience, but these greatly lessened as time went on. Shyness, suspicion, and bigo- 7 Gurubai Karmarkar, M.D. try yielded before this bright, loving, capable woman, and when she and her husband were called to Bombay for more extended and important work, they left many friends to mourn their departure. This was the time when the hospitable home had welcomed young Brahmans who were seeking the truth of Christianity in a somewhat secluded place; the Christian wife seconding by her home-keeping, the truth which her husband taught and exemplified. The young men could appreciate the Christianity of the Karmarkar home without partaking of its—to them— defiled food. In taking up work in Bombay, the Karmarkars soon identi¬ fied themselves with the church and all its interests. Dr. Gurubai was appointed family physician to the Mission board¬ ing schools and became also physician for the Christian resi¬ dents, having the special care of the women and children. A small dispensary was opened to which many Hindu as well as Christian women came for consultation and treatment. She was especially happy in being called to treat Hindu and Mo¬ hammedan women of the higher classes who could not mingle with the poor and lowly at the dispensary. Her skill soon brought her into public notice and within a few years she was called to Baroda to take the place, during furlough, of the head physician of the Jumnabai Hospital for Women. She also served in the same capacity at the Cama Hospital in Bombay, during the absence of the English lady who was at its head. While in Baroda, she treated and was on friendly terms with the family of the Gaekwar (ruling prince) and was recalled more than once to some of the princesses after her return to Bombay. In 1897, Dr. Karmarkar had another role and a sad one to perform. In the fearful famine in Central India the mission¬ aries of the various missions did all they could to take care of the women and children but finding the task greater than they were able to cope with, they sent appeals to the missionaries of the Western Province, to take some of the poor wretches. Mr. Karmarkar and Dr. Gurubai were appointed by the Ameri¬ can Marathi Mission in Bombay to visit the famine regions, 8 Native Helpers with the result that they sent away and brought down with them many widows and children who were in most pitiable plight. Other helpers also were sent up and altogether three or four hundred children and many widows were added to the care of the Mission. Dr. Gurubai’s work was therefore greatly increased but, not content with seeing the boarding schools and widows’ home filled up with the starving and emaciated, she took into her own home twelve children—one little creature picked out of a gutter nearly dead. This was by no means a spasmodic benevo¬ lence on the part of the Karmarkars. Two or three little ones died in spite of every attention, but the others have been brought up as their own with family love and care. The first of these famine waifs to obtain the degree of A.B. is now studying medicine at the University of Pennsylvania. In the autumn of this famine year, the plague which had appeared in Bombay the year before, broke out with violence a second time. Dr. Gurubai’s calm devotedness was invaluable to the Christian community and not only the Christians; many a Hindu woman received her care who otherwise would have died as uncared-for as any animal. As the plague has visited the city periodically ever since, with more or less malignancy, she is always on the alert during its usual run of thirteen weeks. It is not, however, only as a doctor that we must know our friend, Mrs. Karmarkar. She is an able and interesting speaker, often called upon for addresses in Marathi and English. The Young Women’s Christian Association, the Christian Union of Women Workers, the Annual Conference of Indian Christian Women and other gatherings have the privilege of her counsel and encouragement. Twice she has been sent to Europe as the Indian delegate to the International Conference of the Y. W. C. A.—to Paris, in 1906 and to Stockholm, Sweden, in 1914. These privileges were greatly appreciated by her and her pleasure in new friend¬ ships was reciprocated by those with whom she was brought into contact. Dr. Gurubai truly enjoys social life and is always a welcome guest in missionary circles as well as in Indian homes. She is 9 Gurubai Karmarkar , M.D. one of the few Indian Christian women who are invited to the purdah parties of the Indian National Association. European, Parsi, Hindu, and Mohammedan ladies form a kaleidoscope of silks, gauzes and flashing jewels, but Dr. Karmarkar, although in comparatively simple attire, is never out of place nor is she a wallflower. She is also a gracious hostess. Among those who have shared the hospitality of the Karmarkar home, are many tourists who have been invited to a typical Indian jaywan. They can recall sitting on the floor, in various fashions comfortable or other¬ wise, a profusely decorated tablecloth or floor before them, huge plantain leaves for plates, and an unaccustomed abundance and variety of things known and unknown pressed upon them. Dr. Gurubai was a helpmeet to her gifted and consecrated husband, not only in the making of the home and its influence, but in many other ways. When he had erected his “Good Will Hall” for special evangelistic work, she had a corner set apart for a dispensary which she visited three times a week. In the meetings that were daily held in this place, she was often found at the little organ when other helpers failed. When it was possible, she lingered to visit the women living in the vicinity, always carrying the Gospel message. For some years Mr. Karmarkar had led a strenuous life in the service of Christ, while suffering from an insidious disease. His wife’s care and anxiety for him only ceased when he was suddenly called to his Eternal Home in 1912. Outwardly brave, bearing in Christian resignation her great bereavement, she was able after some weeks of quiet retirement to take up again her medical work. Now we see her keeping regular afternoon hours at the Good Will Dispensary, spending three mornings at the Agripada Dispensary, the branch dispensary for women and children in the large district occupied by thousands of mill hands. Other mornings are given to her large private practice and to visiting the schools. The doctor has oversight of the health of these girls in the Mission High School, not merely caring for them when ill, but teaching them laws of hygiene. We cannot leave our friend without giving at least a touch of i o Native Helpers description of the women for whom she labors, and who serve as a setting to the picture we have tried to present of her. Dr. Karmarkar has had on an average 8,000 patients a year. A majority of these are Indian women, Hindu and Mohammedan. Some are half-clad, dishevelled creatures bringing children with every imaginable complaint. For themselves, they rarely consult the Christian doctor, at least with any idea of taking her medicine, for they have too many superstitions of their own and are callous to suffering. The middle classes, or castes, are more amenable to the doctor’s treatment. A majority did, at first, cling to the old remedies while taking the new, the result being far from satisfactory to patient or physician. In later years, however, there has been a great change. The doctor’s skill and kindness have conquered and an increasing number rely upon her care and look forward in faith to her visits. The women, however, who seem to appreciate and to benefit the most are those of the highest in caste, or in wealth and posi¬ tion. Since the doctor must visit these in their secluded homes, there is more time for acquaintance and friendliness as well as for treatment. Mohammedan and Hindu ladies have thus the best opportunity for hearing of the Great Physician and His marvellous power in the healing of sin-sick souls. A Brah¬ man Christian nurse is a helpful assistant in this private practice. Indian women, gentle, patient and lovable, as a whole, but yet ignorant, full of superstition, and of unclean mind, are indeed sin-sick. A doctor like our Gurubai Karmarkar, who is a true Christian woman, is as invaluable to their souls as to their bodies, for she brings them to a Divine Healer and Saviour. tr Mary Achimuttu Chellayah MARY ACHIMUTTU CHELLAYAH An Elect Lady of Ceylon By Helen I. Root CARCELY more than a child, the much-loved daughter of a nominally Christian home in Jaffna, the subject of this sketch was married, almost a generation ago, to a brilliant, irreligious young man. He took her away from her childhood home to live in India, a country that seemed to her very far away though really the coast of it is just next door, across a narrow straight. Christian friends protested at the sacrifice of this beautiful young girl on the altar of family pride and with sad hearts they saw her go away, supposing that she would drop back into the wretchedness and folly of the Hindu woman’s hopeless life. At rare intervals Mrs. Chellayah returned and their hearts were still more sad for, in accepting the choice made for her, she had apparently lost all her early interest in personal Chris¬ tianity. How strong a hold Hinduism took upon her it is hard to say. Probably she never quite gave up the practice of prayer, but outwardly she was like thousands of other young Hindu wives—richly dressed, indulged, proud of her gifted husband, indifferent to spiritual things. Years passed and the girl became one of India’s charming women, marked by winsome modesty and grace. Her husband, after reckless years, came into contact with Christians of the most spiritual type whose lives bore out their testimony and furnished him with an argument unanswerable as to the reality of Christ’s power to save. After a long, long struggle with his pride and sin, the young man yielded his heart to God and with it all his brilliant gifts, for he was a lawyer of marked ability. 14 Native Helpers The first task he undertook was the winning of his wife to Christ. Then together for a few brief years they served Him, being constantly enriched spiritually and coming to know in glad experience what it means to be made like Christ by the cleansing and filling of the Holy Spirit. Such happy years of fellowship in service! They established their position as Christ¬ ians among Hindu and Mohammedans, who respected their new stand and remained their friends. They went riding in their bullock bandy about the dusty lanes searching out their “dear Telugu people” to tell them of Jesus. They returned to the home country, Jaffna, and held meetings at many points, preaching Christ with such earnestness and effect that scores of their friends and relatives were convinced of the marvelous change in them and of the reality of their religion. At one such meeting a Christian friend, who had actively opposed this marriage years before, went down on his knees and begged God to forgive him for his unbelief that Chellayah could ever be saved. Many were won to Christ in these meetings and added to the church. Returning to their home in India, they were for a time in the Salvation Army but their health was not good enough for active service there, though they retained the warm confidence of the leaders in that movement. They took especial interest in helping the poor and outcast. These two saw visions of the day now dawning when India’s own Christian people shall volunteer to give the Gospel to their own countrymen as they alone can do it. God honored them with high official position and standing among the people of Cudappah. There, in 1895, Mr. Chellayah died and his broken-hearted wife, receiving with his tender farewell a charge to carry on his work, watched him go “laughing to another country” with his Saviour’s name upon his lips. To those who know the shame that India adds to the widow’s sorrow it will be almost unbelievable that Mrs. Chellayah could be so loved and honored as she has been since her husband’s death. Ceylon in many ways is unlike India, though so near it and so nearly a part of it, and this young widow was able in Mary Achimuttu Chellayah 15 Ceylon to take up the threads of a broken life and weave a pattern of rare beauty. Doing first things first, she exerted a quiet effectual influence in her uncle’s home where she lived. Its standards were already conspicuously high and it was her joy to make the home a center of true Christian hospitality. Then she turned her attention to the needs of her own church. There are no distracting “affairs” in the church in Uduvil, so all her energies could be spent on things worth while. We find her holding little house prayer- meetings among the women, getting the timid to pray, helping in times of trouble, encouraging them to follow Christ in earnest. She organized the children as “Little Soldiers of Jesus” and taught them His ways. She was invited now and then to larger meetings, at first of women only, and it was discovered that she had a gift for effective public speaking. When the missionary hospital was opened at Inuvil, a mile from her home, immediately Mrs. Chellayah proved her interest in it by going day after day to talk with the patients and their friends in the wards, after assisting in the brief dispensary ser¬ vice. She also aided in the Sunday afternoon meetings in the preaching bungalow, bringing her little “Soldiers” and some of the older Christian girls. Some of these young people will never forget the privilege of such companionship in service. During much of the time since this hospital has been doing its beneficent work for the women and children of Jaffna, Mrs. Chellayah has carried on a Bible class for the nurses-in-training and has exerted a strong and kindly influence for righteousness throughout the hospital. As time went on other missionaries began to seek her aid, sometimes for a series of Bible lessons for the Christian women at the station, sometimes for evangelistic efforts among women and girls, sometimes for conferences and classes. In all these varied efforts, she has been remarkably successful and her teaching has been acceptable to her own people even when she uttered burning words denouncing deceit and sin. From village to village she goes, as opportunity offers, conducting little house- to-house meetings among Christians or Hindus, often speaking to larger gatherings when the call is plain, always welcomed, 16 Native Helpers always respected. Often she has been called to assist in gather¬ ing the ever-ripe harvest of souls in the Uduvil Girls’ Boarding School and she has helped many a girl to make the memorable choice between Christ and the Hindu god, Siva. In a country where the charge is often falsely brought against God’s people that they serve Him for financial gain—and indeed their general prosperity in contrast with those who reject Him is a striking fact—it is no small source of satisfaction to see a good number, among whom Mrs. Chellayah is a conspicuous example, who do all their work for love of God. She does not need remuneration and she does not take it, nor does she make her own financial independence the excuse for leaving God’s work to others. How it touches the people, this free gift of herself to her Master! In 1899 Mrs. Chellayah was largely instrumental in forming the Jaffna Women’s Mission to cooperate with the Student’s Mission in missionary work in India. This is an organization of Christian women for prayer and giving. Its first plan— statesmanlike it proved—was to provide each member with a substantial wooden box into which some coin should be dropped every day, with a prayer for the blessing of God upon the work. No flimsy “mite box” but a good strong receptacle for large gifts as well as small. The Women’s Mission did not aim at regular meetings but once a year had a “box opening,” which was made an occasion for spiritual refreshing. At many and many of these Mrs. Chellayah has been present to make plain to her country¬ women, less travelled and less well-informed, the needs of desolate heathen womanhood in India. Each year at the public annual meeting she has presented the report and has been most influen¬ tial in maintaining and increasing the interest in this effort to give the precious news of Jesus to those in greater darkness. Never very strong physically and often burdened with many cares, this Christian widow has lived year after year in the center of a constantly widening circle of influence. An exceedingly positive character, she has aroused antagonism but her loving spirit has disarmed it without compromising. Nearly always robed in the simple white drapery of her people, always simple and modest in bearing, low-voiced and quiet, she has been true Mary Achimuttu Chellayah 17 to her convictions of duty in the face of all opposition and God has honored her. Yes, there are many other lives among our Christian sisters in Ceylon, beautiful and fragrant with heavenly blessing. There are few in any land who combine so many qualities of leadership and present so fair a picture of the redeeming and transforming love of Christ operating freely in a yielded life. No better statement can be made of her purposes and aims than this which she made herself in a personal letter written some years ago: “Since my beloved husband died, my Heavenly Father has been very kind to me. To do His will is my happiness. I have journeyed through the wilderness and am on the banks of the Jordan waiting to get into the land of promise in God’s own time. My humble prayer is that the Lord will give me strength to live for His glory till I die.” KOUME SUMIYA OF JAPAN From Geisha Girl to Bible Woman By Belle W. Pettee vgQkN Christmas morning of the third year of Kaie, more than lIHf sixty-five years ago, a wee girl opened her eyes on the world of old Japan. Her father’s family, sake-brewers and sellers for generations, occupied the present site of the North Church on a busy street corner of Okayama. Her father, second and favorite son of his widowed mother, had received from her, on his starting a new home in an ad¬ joining house, a box of silk quilts between which she had hidden from his bother’s eyes rolls of the local paper money then current in that daimiate. The tiny frail mother of this Koume (Plum Blossom) passed away a year and a half later leaving this baby and an older half sister to the father’s care. Around the corner lived the mother’s mother who gladly took into her lonely home, from which she had lost her husband and all four children, this one and only grandchild, who became doubly hers at the death of the father three years later. The upper servant in the grandmother’s house was a kind- hearted man no longer young, a cabinet-maker by trade, a favorite retainer and workman of the daimyo, Daiyo Tokura. He soon won the heart of the orphan child who learned to call him father and lovingly cared for him till, bent with age he died a few years ago. There were no schools for girls in those days so little Plum Blossom was not taught much of books but she did go to a temple school long enough to learn reading and writing from the priest-teacher. The fatherly servant was fond of music, a skilful player on the samisen, or three-stringed guitar, and a good singer, so Koume early began music lessons. 20 Native Helpers The grandmother was a devout Buddhist of the Hokkei sect and frequently took her on pilgrimages to different temples, especially those of the fox god, everywhere making offerings and prayers for the health of the delicate child. Tall candles that needed frequent snuffing furnished the only light at the stately feasts in the daimyo’s palace and the little girl, in gay gowns of crape and silk, was often called on to pass down the lines of fairy lights, snuffing each in turn, with the quaint bronze scissors hanging from the tall, gold lacquer candlesticks. Between whiles she served the guests with fragile cups of amber-colored tea, and bowls of blazing charcoal for lighting the tiny gold or silver-mounted bamboo pipes. A low, deep voice is the sine qua non of a successful samisen player and, following the usual custom, through the coldest month of the year every morning at four o’clock, the little girl went with her faithful attendant to the wind-swept bridge to sing and sing till her voice would crack and break. Returning home at dawn, she would sit down for hours of practice. So she achieved the Kan-goye (cold weather voice) and incidentally brought on the asthmatic attacks which through the years have racked the frail frame with nightly fits of coughing. Even yet the hands are misshapen from the hours of twanging the strings with the ivory plectrum. By the time she was fifteen years old she was a skilful musician and had many pupils of both sexes. Meantime the family fortunes had declined. After the Restoration in 1868, the paper money of the daimiates became worthless. The only income of the family was the daily portion of rice given by the daimyo to his faithful retainer. The young musician worked early and late with her pupils to support the family of three. Four years later the grandmother died, and the lonely girl longed to die, too. Her soul even then was reaching out to the Infinite. The gods of wood and stone to whom she had been taught to pray did not satisfy her. As she gazed at the flowers and the friendly stars, her heart was reaching out for some Power above, beyond, some Creator who knew and cared for his creatures. She had a maid from the country, a girl whose heart was set on becoming a Buddhist nun, and the two lonely unhappy girls resolved to 21 Koume Sumiya shave their heads and go on a pilgrimage seeking death, but Kiku’s mother hearing of their desires, promptly forbade any¬ thing of the kind. For a year or more Koume was ill and would have starved, had it not been for the kindness of one of her pupils, Mr. Nakagawa, a dashing young man who had been chief hostler in the daimyo’s stables. He begged her to come to live with him, bringing her foster father also, if she would. Again and fused till, when was ill unto ed to his en- and nurse the her skilful care to recover and, knowledge o r Nakagawa belongings to a house. At that gawas had no house was fall- but under her the little shop paper and thrive and Mr. started the money in small long she had KOUME SUMIYA From a recent photograph again she re- his little son death,she yield- treaty to come child. Under the baby began without her consent, Mr. moved her few room in his own time the Naka- money, their ing to pieces, management of tobacco, thread began to Nakagawa lending of sums. Before realized fifteen hundred yen (seven hundred and fifty dollars) which she promptly passed over to his wife for repairs on the house. With fifty dollars her patron built a small house for his favorite Plum Blossom in a corner of the garden where she began the selling of cloth. But just as brighter days seemed coming, a thief carried off everything she had. A second son had been born into the family and for that reason she refused to accept the gift of the house built for her use. Nothing daunted, again she helped her kind friend start anew—this time a rice shop with a servant of the house to work the foot-power mill which polished the shining grains. 22 Native Helpers In 1876 she first heard of the God she had been longing for. Dr. Taylor of the American Board Mission in Kobe and his assistant, Dr. Ota, an Okayama man, came by jinrikisha the ninety miles from Kobe along the shores of the Inland Sea. The miraculous draught of fishes was the subject of the first Bible talk and made a great impression on Plum Blossom and the other woman hearer, Mrs. Nishi, wife of the Chinese scholar who was Mr. Nakagawa’s closest friend. The following summer Rev. J. L. Atkinson of Kobe and Mr. Kanamori, with two or three others of the Kumamoto Band then studying in the Doshisha, spent several days in Okayama, preaching and teach¬ ing the Bible in these two households. This visit was followed by others from Dr. Taylor and Mr. Kanamori. Then came the memorable trip of Misses Barrows and Dudley, the first Woman’s Board representatives to go into the interior with the message of love and salvation. Gratitude and love had conquered Koume’s sense of right and wrong and her friend and benefactor was the father of the baby girl that nestled in her arms. But still she longed to know more of the “Jesus’ Way” and daily with the women of these three households, Nakagawa, Nishi and Onishi (the latter being Mrs. Nakagawa’s mother and sisters) she went to study this new strange Bible. “I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance” was the word that brought peace to her troubled heart. Then began the struggle between the love of her child and its father and this new love of God the Father and Christ her Saviour. She went to Miss Dudley for counsel and was urged to go immediately to Kobe to enter the girls school just started there by Miss Talcott. Meantime Mr. Nakagawa had met Miss Talcott in Kobe, been much impressed by her strong and winning personality and, partly because he hoped this Western religion would help him in his political ambitions, and partly because of the pleading of the girl he loved, he consented to give her for a time at least into the personal care of Miss Talcott. Leaving her baby girl in the care of Mr. Nakagawa’s wife she went with him to Kobe where he gave her into Miss Talcott’s keeping. In true samurai spirit he asked from Miss Talcott a pledge, Koume Sumiya 23 something she valued, which he might keep while his loved Koume was in her care. She gave him a gold pencil, a precious keepsake of a dead brother, and this same pencil he never would give up, but carried it with him till his death, years later, and gave orders it should be buried with him in his coffin. But Mr. Nakagawa missed his Plum Blossom and soon began calling her back to Okayama. Much as she loved him, she felt she could not return, and again and again refused to go back or even to see him. He sent one member of the family after another to Kobe to fetch her home, but of no avail till she re¬ ceived a telegram saying her old foster father lay dying. She could not resist that summons and started, only to be told just as she arrived at the house that it was all a lie. Nakagawa had ordered them not to tell her till she reached the door lest she drown herself in the sea by the way. Then came her time of trial. Not only the man but different members of his own and his wife’s family pled with her to return to him and to her child. They feared for his reason if she declined. For a week the conflict raged betwen her love for her child and friends, and her loyalty to her new Master and His teachings. Then the wearied brain gave way and for two months she lay in bed bruised and helpless in mind and body. This so alarmed Mr. Nakagawa that when she began to show signs of recovery he wrote to Miss Talcott begging her to take Koume again and nurse her back to health and strength even if he needs must give her up. This letter of forty years ago, out of the depths of a strong man’s heart, came later into Sumiya San’s possession, and has only just been destroyed, long after the writer and receiver had met in the great Beyond. In the fall of 1879, Sumiya San, frail but indomitable, re¬ turned to Okayama to the humble home of her foster father, the carpenter. Mr. Nakagawa refusing to give her the keeping of her child lest he lose all hold upon her. Meantime three families of the American Board Mission, the Berrys, Carys and Pettees had moved to Okayama and were living on a hill just east of the city. Daily she walked the mile and a half to give one of the missionary wives a lesson in Japanese, and in the simple housework, in the daily Bible study and in the winning 24 Native Helpers of the foster father, none too eager to embrace the new reli¬ gion, the days passed in preparation for the thirty-six years of teaching of the Jesus’ Way which has brought the knowledge of her Saviour to hundreds of her countrymen. From the days of the first Sunday school that was started in Okayama, when she and Mrs. Cary taught together a class of young girls, she has been a loved and successful teacher of all grades from babies to grandmothers. In October of 1880 came a severe trial of her faith and love. The little band of believers was organized into a church and she was refused baptism because Mr. Nakagawa refused to break connection with her and still held on to her child. On the day of that memorable service on the wall of the small Japanese house was the legend in symbols and words of evergreen “No Cross, no Crown.” To the lonely stricken heart of Sumiya San it came as a message of love from her Father in Heaven. Its comfort is with her still. Then and there she renounced all claim to the child of her heart’s love. Only a few years passed, years of trial, of patience and of growth and she had won her place, an honored place, in the church and the father had given the little daughter to her un¬ reservedly. During those early years while Miss Talcott, released from Kobe College, was a valued touring member of Okayama station, Sumiya San travelled with her all through Okayama prefecture, teaching in cities, towns and villages. Those were days of per¬ secutions, of perils by land and sea, of perils from exasperated fathers and mothers who even threatened the life of the devoted missionary and her helper. At another time Tokyo was their home for a few months, with the starting of a Woman’s Society and Bible class in the Bancho and Reinanzaka churches and teaching of classes in the Hongo Sunday school. Lack of funds drove them from the capital, as distances were so great and jinrikisha fares so high that a single call would often take half a day and cost two or three yen when, in the smaller cities, several families could be reached with less expenditure of time and money. But that time of seed¬ sowing bears fruit even yet. In the early nineties came the craze for learning English and 2 5 Koume Sumiya also foreign knitting and crocheting. Wise Sumiya San, in a rented house near the church, started a school for the teaching of these fashionable branches of learning. Mrs. Cary and Mrs. Rowland were her foreign instructors and for two years the school had almost phenomenal success. The daily Bible lesson was put in the middle of the one session. If it came at the beginning the pupils were late; if at the end they left early; in the middle they heard willy nilly the gospel message. Even now, here in Tokyo, twenty-five years later, some of her warmest friends, leaders in the woman’s work of the Kumiai churches, were pupils in that humble school and date their first knowledge of Christianity to those days of the making of socks and shawls. After two years of this strenuous life Sumiya San’s health gave way again, so with the foster father and the little girl she came to the small tea house on the hill beside the missionary homes. The quiet life under the pines, the joy of the mother and daughter, the happy Christian home brought new strength to the mind and body. No story of Sumiya San’s life would be complete without mention of Juji Ishii and his orphanage. He often called her the “Mother of his Faith.” From the days when a medical student in Okayama he was seeking after the truth, through all the years of his varying experiences to the last weeks of his life, she was his friend and counsellor, his helper and leader. In those early days when food was scarce when there were more mouths to feed than bowls of rice, when clothing and bedding had to be stretched beyond their limit, Mrs. Ishii’s motherly heart was encouraged and strengthened by Sumiya San’s timely sympathy and many a letter written by the midnight oil brought in for the orphans the sorely needed help. She was and is the adored “Auntie” of all the orphans. Even now the grown-ups, with boys and girls of their own, turn to her in their hours of anxiety and trouble and never do they appeal in vain. During the years when the Orphanage was trying to reach self-support by giving stereopticon lectures and brass-band concerts with the orphans for performers throughout the country, Sumiya San often accompanied the troupe in order to interest the leading ladies of the town or city to which the Orphanage 26 Native Helpers laid siege. During the Japan-China war when the Orphanage Band spent some months at Hiroshima, the army headquarters, cheering off the soldiers as they left for the front, faithful Auntie Sumiya was with them, comforting sick soldiers in the hospitals. And so the years passed on, the foster father died, the daughter grew to womanhood and was married to Mr. Y. Aoki, a student of Yale and Columbia and a successful teacher of English in a government school. Sumiya San is now the happy grandmother of nine grandchildren. During the last months of Mr. Ishii’s long illness at the Orphan¬ age farm in Hyuga, Sumiya San was with him much, and the sorrowing orphans big and little still cling to her as the dearest representative of Father Ishii. She often goes back to one of the orphanage cottages, which at Mr. Ishii’s dying request she still calls home. Just now, in 1916, she is here in Tokyo, picking up the threads and renewing old acquaintance with women and girls, aye and men, too, whom she has known here, there and everywhere; comforting the sick, bringing out church absentees, reading the gospel story with the sons and daughters of old friends, speaking at women’s meetings, at old ladies’ societies, helping Bible women with her counsel and experience. She is frail and slight, but able to walk and talk and, thanks to the trolley cars which have done much toward annihilating distances in this big city of Tokyo, she daily closes the gate of her tiny house and is gone from morning till night on her errands of mercy and help. She is a sunshine carrier wherever she goes, the friend of old and young, rich and poor alike. She hopes like her beloved teacher, Miss Talcott, to continue the work she loves till the voice of her Master calls to the higher, fuller service in the life beyond. MRS. YIN OF PEKING A Survivor of the Boxer Riots By Bertha P. Reed 'TfifN the Church of Christ in China, we give thanks for the jl many faithful women whose life and work add to its effectiveness, and for the Christian homes they make, where the atmosphere of love and kindness bear witness to the reality of the Gospel. Some of these women have known all their lives the blessing of such teachings, but far more have grown up in the midst of non-Christian beliefs and practices. Among these stands Mrs. Yin, long faithful in her home, and now working earnestly as a Bible woman in Peking, leading others into the way which she has found. A member of a Manchu family, her early home was in a Manchu encampment just outside Peking. The name “en¬ campment” is given to the kind of settlement in which many such families are placed, a sort of model town arranged by the government, with streets laid out in a careful geometrical plan, the rows of houses all facing south and each house having its own little yard. There seems to be an endless succession of exactly similar streets, so that one wonders how a person ever finds her own abode. The houses, too, are very much alike. No business is carried on in these places, but a near-by town serves as a market. In former times the houses were well kept up, but now many are in a sad state of decline, and falling walls and dilapidated roofs are a reminder of the change that has come upon the people. There are many such encampments in the region about Peking, great places full of women and children, while the men are away on duty as soldiers, or perhaps serving the govern¬ ment in some other way. 28 Native Helpers Many of these women, like Mrs. Yin, are rather tall, with a very straight carriage, head held high, and walking with a dignity and freedom of motion which is possible only to women whose feet have not been bound. Many of them still cling to the Manchu garb, with its flowery headdress, in spite of the prevalence of different fashions. In the girlhood days of Mrs. Yin, education for girls was un¬ dreamed of, except for those in the church. But she was still quite young when her parents betrothed her to Mr. Yin, and, as he had already come into the church and knew something of the value of study for girls, he urged that she be sent to school. His opinion was one to be considered, and her father yielded. She was an ambitious girl, and came with great joy, happy in this wonderful chance to study. But she had been there only a short time when her father came one day with a cart and demanded that she go back. He had been much alarmed by the talk of the neighbors. Those foreigners would take out her eyes to use for medicine, they said; or they might even take out her heart. Who knew what they were doing, or how much might be left of her even now? The father’s fears conquered, and he took her home while she was still uninjured. After that there was no more study until she married. Then her husband brought her again to the school, and this time she continued her studying until she could read quite well. Then came years of home life for them. Mr. Yin was a colporteur, and did faithful work as he traveled about with his books, preaching also to the people to whom he sold them. By the time of the Boxer year they had three little girls.. This was a period of great terror for them, as for so many who believed in Christ. They fled from their home when the Boxers came and succeeded at first in escaping their persecutors. They hid outside the city, first in a marsh, then in a cemetery. On the second day, as they wandered along the road, Mrs. Yin was seized by a band of Boxers and bound. One held the knife above her, ready to take her life. Then some one said, “Let her go; her heart is hard.” She says herself that she felt quiet, not afraid, and after a time she was allowed to go on. Mrs. Yin 29 Again she hid in the marsh, watching all night, while the two little girls with her slept. Mr. Yin and the third child had become separated from them. In the daytime she wandered about, going across the city, and at night hid in the corner of the city wall. Another night she found a vacant house in a field and crouched there, cold and hungry. They could get very little to eat, and thought constantly that they would be killed before long. Boxer bands were everywhere, both in the city and outside, so no hiding place seemed secure. At last the mother said to the little girls, “We will go back and see if they are all killed.” First they prayed earnestly, one child asking especially that she might find her father that day, and then they wandered back to the ruins of their home. From there she slowly made her way to the Methodist Mission, and found many Christians collected there. To her joy, she found Mr. Yin and the third child among them. He had fled from another band when she was taken and had gradually found his way to this place of safety. After five days of weary wandering she could rest with her family and many thanks arose to God for their wonderful delivery. Through the time of the Siege of Peking they remained among the Christians in the British Legation, helpful in many ways and always deeply grateful. After that terrible summer they lived in different places in the country, working gladly for the church. Two boys were added to the family. But after a few years Mr. Yin sickened and died and Mrs. Yin was left alone with the five children. Miss Russell appointed her as a Bible woman and for ten years now she has been engaged in that work, and has cared for her family on the small pay that was all the mission could give her. Different persons have helped the children at times in school. Now the oldest daughter is married, and the second, a recent high school graduate, is doing especially well as a teacher. She plans later to go through college and then to give her time to teaching in the church schools. The other children are still in school. Mrs. Yin has now a more responsible place than at first and is one of our energetic and growing native helpers. She works 30 Native Helpers with zeal for the women she meets, and tries to arouse the ambition of each one. She is ready to leave her city post for a country class at any time and there gives herself joyfully and entirely to the women about her. We have great hope for the work that God will do through her and her children and give many thanks to Him that she was saved from danger, and brought to this place of usefulness. HU CHIN GING OF FOOCHOW Once “Autumn Gold” the Child Gambler By Irene Dornblaser missionary was on her way home Q after a full day of evangelistic work. There were many interesting sights along the way, even to one who knew China as well as she. True, the picturesque native streets, with their Oriental signs, lanterns and draperies, had long since become familiar. So had the odd shops. Here was one where meat was sold, its queer cuts of pork and goat- meat hung where people brushed them as they passed. Next door was a rice shop, with its huge mock-bottom baskets of this necessary food. Beyond that a “jewelry store” with one pitiful little show-case about two feet long, containing not more than twenty-five dollars’ worth of silver bracelets, anklets and rings, all made after the same pattern. From the shop a little farther along came the metallic beat of three hammers in a blacksmith’s establishment. Three men at an anvil were beating rhythmically on the red-hot iron held by the head man. The day was hot, and one of the laborers fanned himself with the left hand as he pounded with the right. The missionary looked up with quick amusement, suddenly called out of her reverie. It was common enough to see silk- gowned gentlemen leisurely wielding their painted fans as they walked along the street and to find the preacher vigorously accentuating his sermon by the use of one. But this was a sight she had not seen before. She paused for a friendly word, 3 2 Nati ve Help ers and before she left had given an invitation to attend church the next Sunday. Their hammers paused and the iron cooled while they watched her pass out of sight. Then they returned to their task, re¬ marking, “She smiled,” and “She can speak our language,” the two things that always impress Chinese the most. A beggar passed her a little farther on, using a stool for a crutch and calling loudly for alms. A moment later, she felt a touch on her sleeve and looked up to find a wistful face turned to hers. “Mrs. Teacher,” the little woman said, “invite you come my house and sit.” The invitation was a common one, often mere politeness, but this seemed more insistent and she followed her new acquaintance homeward. Not far from her own gate the missionary saw a group of children intent over a game. Gambling! Poor little tots! How little they were to be learning the passion! She paused for a moment, expecting the customary greeting, “Mrs. Teacher, Peace!” and it came, for even these little slum children knew the Christian greeting. But after that, no more attention was wasted on “the foreigner,” not even the usual, “Have you a picture for us?” They were utterly absorbed in their business; and real work it was to them. One little face looked anxious. He was losing every time. Others were strained and eager. But one—the only girl in the group—caught and held the onlooker’s attention. There was a keen, shrewd, exultant look on that face and the child was winning, hand over fist. The missionary made several attempts to draw them into conversation; but not even the picture cards which she produced stopped them for more than a moment. At length she went on into the compound, but the memory of that shrewd little gambler stayed with her and she resolved to find the child and learn more about her. She frequently saw her after that but always absorbed in her profession. Patient watchfulness at last had its reward, however. She finally found the child alone one day, asked her name and went with her to her home, a poor hovel, with nothing much to distinguish it from the other houses in the neighborhood. When 33 Hu Chin Ging she left, the missionary had the promise that the little girl might go to the Ponasang school. It seemed a marvel that the parents should consent. But it was cheaper board than at home and that was a strong argument. The day came when little Autumn Gold came to school for the first time. All was strange and very tame at first. This was a queer place where they would not let one gamble! But at length she began to hear interesting new things. One did not need to fear the evil spirits. Even the idols were not really gods. There was just one God and he loved them, loved those very girls, loved her, Autumn Gold, and wanted her to be good. It was all very new and interesting but, of course, it was only what the “foreigners” thought, and they thought that people ought not to gamble! It was quite a relief to get away occas¬ ionally from the school—ostensibly to do some shopping—and gamble with the men in the shops. She always won, so it was profitable as well. A couple of years passed, and Autumn Gold had grown in her heart to believe the new doctrines she had heard so often and seen lived in the lives of her teachers and many fellow-pupils. But before she had grown strong in her new faith, her parents took her out of school and she was married. That began for her the life of a daughter-in-law in a new home. It was none too pleasant a life, and it was blighted before many years by her husband’s death. Then it was that her shrewdness stood her in good stead. She was thrown on her own resources and began to support herself with characteristic confidence. She found a little heathen school and with her scanty education undertook to teach it, eking out a meager living for a while. But that failed her after a time, and it was then that she turned her thoughts to the Christians. She was soon afterward received into the Woman’s School at Pagoda Anchorage and began to prepare to teach in in a mission day school. She developed splendidly here, not only in teaching ability, but in Christian character; and by the time her course was finished she seemed well fitted for her work. She proved a faithful teacher, with a knack of gathering together large schools 34 Native Helpers and inspiring the pupils with enthusiasm. So useful did she become that before long she was back as head teacher and matron of the woman’s school whose product she was; and a year or so later she went to Nanking for special training in Mandarin and Bible. Last year Mrs. Hu, as she is now best known, became the head teacher in the new Training School for Christian Women, a field of incalculable opportunity. Those who are to be the future Bible women and day-school teachers of the mission come there to become fit for Christian service. They come, many of them, with hazy ideas, both of methods and of Christian living. But two or three years of constant training along both lines develop them wonderfully, and Mrs. Hu, as head teacher, has a great opportunity of inspiring and training those who, in turn, will inspire and train women and children throughout Foochow and all the out-lying districts. The old shrewdness and enthusiasm of little Autumn Gold are still characteristic of Mrs. Hu, and they are not without their element of temptation; but, turned to account in the work of the Kingdom of Jesus Christ, they are splendid qualities. Mrs. Hu has become as intent upon her Christian work as she was on her gambling the day the missionary first saw her, and as eager over it. It does one’s heart good to see her radiant face as she tells of the work she is doing in connection with the Foochow Hospi¬ tal Sunday school. She is exultant over the throngs who eagerly attend it, notwithstanding rainy weather. Others tell of the splendid teaching she does, or her tactfulness, tireless zeal, and personal touch. Imagine the sort of incident that occurs again and again in that Sunday school. The school is assembling, literally “the maimed, the halt and the blind,” but not only these. They have been helped physically and touched spiritually and now they go out into their homes and bring in their friends, people of all descrip¬ tions, men and women and children, rich and poor, old and young, educated and illiterate. Mrs. Hu is seated with her class during the opening exercises. A timid little woman, poorly clad and ignorant, has seen the crowds assembling and followed them in. 35 Hu Chin Ging She stands in the doorway gazing at the scene. At length when the organ stops playing there seems nothing more to interest her and she is evidently making up her mind to leave when Mrs. Hu is by her side with a word of friendly greeting. She draws the woman into conversation, invites her to sit down beside her in her own class, and before the visitor is aware of it, she is hearing an interesting lesson on the Gospel of Jesus Christ. At the close she expresses her gratitude for the cordial entertainment she has had and politely invites Mrs. Hu to her home. There is another meeting for that busy lady after Sunday school, but she asks to be excused from it and ac¬ companies the timid newcomer to her home, making friends and winning her confidence as they go, till when she leaves the woman she has her promise to come again next Sunday. If she should fail she would doubtless have another call from Mrs. Hu, and the calls would continue till the woman became a regular attendant. This Chinese teacher is very skilful and she holds her classes well. She seems always to know the most tactful way to present a lesson and how to adapt it to her hearers. Who can foretell what a golden harvest our Mrs. Autumn Gold, as she develops more and more in her own life, will help to bring in through the work that God has given her to do in Foochow? ANNA FELICIAN OF TURKEY A Teacher of Girls for Fifty Years By Rev. Charles C. Tracy, D.D. 'TTjfF memory were a picture gallery with the pleasant scenes, 'jl the cherished groups, the loved faces that fill the past portrayed upon its walls, Anna Felician would be there holding a modest, but not obscure place. How vivid are the scenes and the persons which have wholly appropriated to their own sacredness that twenty-fifth day of October, 1867, when I first saw her! A weary ride of three days over camel trails, on bony horses, up steeps and down gullies, with a spice of robber alarms, was drawing to a close. In half an hour we would be on yonder ridge overlooking the great plain of Marsovan. On the way along the Tersakan (“the-river-that-flows-the-contrary-way”) came the final thrill—a mounted band galloping down upon us! The shock was only momentary. My young wife, with her quicker discernment, exclaimed, “They are missionaries!” In two or three minutes we were one group, melted together in a lasting fellowship as if by some all-powerful current of electric influence. The happy procession to the town two hours away followed, with greetings in an unknowm tongue, the whole-souled recep¬ tion by Mr. and Mrs. Leonard, Mr. and Mrs. J. F. Smith, our much honored former friend Miss A. E. Fritcher from the faculty of Mount Holyoke Seminary, and with them came pleasing, pretty, bright and witty Anna Felician, a girl of eighteen, daughter of an early much-persecuted, much-im¬ prisoned evangelical preacher at Trebizond. She was born in that city on the Black Sea and had been sent to school in Con¬ stantinople when about twelve years old. She could tell in 3§ Native Helpers imperfect English endless stories about Father Goodell, what odd, captivating talks he gave the children in the mission school; how he came one day with pockets all stuffed out with something; how the little girls all assaulted him, dived into his pockets and hauled out numerous copies of the new hymn books just out of the press which were to be used in the school and which the good missionary father introduced in this grand- fatherly way. She was brought to Marsovan by Mrs. Leonard to assist in a little day school which later developed into the Anatolia Girls’ School of today, with which Miss Felician has been con¬ nected through all the years, as teacher and house-mother as well as being a valued fellow-laborer with the missionaries at this station. It was through Mrs. Leonard that she received the privilege of visiting America and attending Mt. Holyoke Seminary as a special pupil in the winter of 1881-82. She has always looked back upon that experience as one of the golden times of her life. Of those who composed that group at Marsovan in 1867 there remain on this side of the great divide, Anna Felician, Mrs. Tracy and myself; of those then connected with the Turkish Missions—how few, native or foreign, are left! Among the most useful, the most honored, is Anna Felician. She is as faulty as the rest of us and not more so. She has the virtues of the best of us, and maybe more. We who have known her longest hold her name and work in the highest regard. Miss anna felician What a long story of labor A Portrait taken in her prime and patience such a life pre- Anna Felician 39 sents! How weatherworn now is the mortal frame, how toil- worn the spirit, yet patient and persevering to the end! Anna Felician was always a link between us and the people. She understood us better than they did; she understood them better than we did—yes, she was a golden link. She often criticised us to our faces, and criticised the people to their faces; herein she greatly differed from those who criticised them in our presence, and us in theirs. We have often been thankful after¬ ward if not perhaps, at the time, for the views she expressed concerning things which we had said or done, or policies which we had pursued. In later years we have always spoken of this friend as “Miss Anna.” Some of her characteristics have appeared in what has already been said; others should be mentioned in order to any due appreciation of this valuable fellow-laborer. Her social character is remarkable. It would be hard to find any one who has come into friendly relations with, and gained considerable influence over more kinds of people than Miss Anna. She is always far and away better acquainted with the conditions, dispositions, feelings of the people in the town and neighboring places—Mohammedan, Gregorian, Greek, Protestant—than any of us. She is a fine visitor, conversationalist, adviser. She always enjoys associating with people, listening to their stories, sympathizing with their joys and their woes. Her sitting-room has been, these many years, a sort of office without the name. There, with unlimited—I will not say patience, for it never seemed to occur to her to be impatient with even the most prolix callers—but unlimited good will, she listens to whatever people have to say. She has always spent much of her time in calling upon the people in their homes, which has greatly increased her influence. The consequence of such sustained friendly association has been that a very large number of persons have reposed confidence in her and come to her for counsel in all sorts of matters. When officers of various rank visited the institutions, Miss Anna was the one most often chosen to meet and talk with them. She was not afraid to utter her mind even to a pasha, in her own pleasant, jovial, and often 40 Nati ve Help ers witty manner, and the gentlemen, sometimes greatly amused, were never offended. This kind of a person is a blessing. Such a disposition dis¬ perses many a cloud before the storm has time to gather. Though so many of us have a routine of duties and are obliged to run on schedule, cutting sociability short, and curtailing acquaintance with the inner lives of others, yet how much we lose by it! Anna Felician has been a true and loyal friend. We have tested this friendship for almost half a century, in all sorts of circumstances. There is a metal that can be beaten into any imaginable shape, but it is gold still. One may find true friends in any race or nation on earth. Once found and tested, the desire arises in the soul to retain this friendship as the best treasure in an imperfect, and see its development in a perfect world. Miss Anna has manifested much wisdom in the management of affairs committed to her. She has been a remarkable econo¬ mist. This has greatly helped in days when the large boarding school for girls at Marsovan was in straits. No morsel of food, no crust of bread was thrown away under her manage¬ ment, but the most was made of provisions and materials of all sorts. This genius for economy cannot be too highly appreciated; it is quite too often lacking where the use of benevolent funds is involved. Yet this same economist, so conscientious in the use of school funds, was far more generous and confiding than successful in the management of her own humble financial interests. Careful as she has ever been in the matters of per¬ sonal expense, others rather than herself have gained the benefit of her frugality and small is the residue of savings her account can show after half a century of faithful and self-denying toil. This devoted friend is gifted with both tact and taste. On birthdays and other festal occasions she comes in smiling with a bunch of flowers according to the season—Easter lilies, violets, roses—for she loves and cultivates flowers. Or she brings a plate of choice fruit which she has cared for and watched over, grown in the grounds of the Girls’ School. Over and above all these outward manifestations, these Anna Felician 4i aptitudes for social life, Anna Felician is a Christian in heart and soul, not in creed merely. That creed of hers—no uncertain thing—may be out of tune with much fashionable criticism of the day, but it harmonizes well with Christian life and efficient influence. As half a century of associations and relationships, co-working and care draws to a close, very, very few are the links of in¬ dividual connection remaining unbroken. It is more than a transient emotion that moves our souls as we cast a glance on the aging faces and enfeebled forms of the all-but-vanished remnant of our fellow-toilers. We try to lay hold heartily of the present, to join in with the young and the strong, to kindle with the new enthusiasm, for the power on which we rely is the “power of endless life,” yet we cling with special tenacity of regard to those who, like a few remaining old missionaries, here and there an aged pastor or teacher, like Anna Felician of Marsovan, have been our true and faithful friends for half a hundred years. FATIMA HANUM OF BULGARIA A Bible Reader in Turkish Harems By Ursula Clarke Marsh s ATIMA HANUM and her husband, Akhmet Agha, were natives of Caesarea in Asia Minor. Early in their married life they came under the influence of the Gospel, renounced Islam, and were known as Christians. This, of course, aroused the anger of their relatives. Both Fatima and her husband were from influential families, and they left no means untried to bring them back to the true faith. Finding their persuasions of no avail, they finally threatened them with imprisonment, and if they continued obdurate, with death. Their friends, the American missionaries, fearing these threats would really be executed, got them off by night in disguise, their two little girls in baskets slung on a mule’s back, all in the care of a trusty Armenian muleteer. Reaching Constantinople, they were protected for a time by the British Ambassador; but Akhmet Agha’s light could not be hid. He was constantly found talking Christianity in coffee houses and bazaars, was arrested and sent into exile to Rodosto. Left alone with her little girls, Fatima Hanum was soon taken by a distant relative into his harem. At first she was very closely watched, and never allowed to leave the house, but as time passed and she became apparently contented and happy— happy she was, for she was trusting her Lord to show her a way of escape—she was given more liberty, was permitted to go to the bazaars and to walk with her children. Late one summer afternoon, she started with the children for the seashore, accompanied by only one servant. At the head of a narrow, crooked street leading to the quay, she per¬ suaded the servant to stop in a shop to buy some sweets. Then 44 Native Helpers she flew to the water’s edge, hailed a boatman and promising him a large sum, was out of reach when the servant appeared. It was a long pull up the Bosphorus to Bebek, where she knew American missionaries lived, though she did not know how to find them. But she prayed all the way and as they reached the boat landing she saw, to her great joy, standing as if waiting for her one of the missionaries. “I knew God had sent him,” she used to say in telling her story. Akhmet Agha, after spending some years in exile in different cities, in every one of which he preached Christ, was finally restored to his family and died peacefully, triumphantly in his own home, in the year 1873. One of their daughters was enticed away and married to a Moslem; the other daughter married an Armenian and with them Fatima Hanum made her home. Longing to tell her Turkish sisters of the Christ so precious to her, she found access to harems by means of her basket of laces, thread, needles, etc.; but while she sold such things, she carried also her Turkish Bible and, as she found opportunity, read from it, giving away also Scripture portions and tracts. We believe that in this way many hearts were reached. During the massacre of Armenians in 1896, Fatima Hanum’s son-in-law was obliged to flee with his family to Philippopolis, Bulgaria, and it was there that I met her. Tall and dignified, intent on the Master’s business, with a love broad enough to embrace all nationalities, while longing especially for the con¬ version of her Turkish sisters, she was just the woman we had long wished for to work among Mohammedans and, despite her more than seventy years, she gladly took up the work of a Bible woman. Turkish women living in free Bulgaria are much more acces¬ sible than their sisters in Turkey and they welcomed this new¬ comer from Stamboul. It is not so uncommon to find women who can read, though they have few books beside the Koran, and they were glad to buy the Psalms, Proverbs and single Gospels, sometimes even a whole Testament or Bible, and they were always ready to listen to Fatima’s spirited reading, so Fatima Hanum 45 different from the singsong, spiritless rendering of the Koran to which they were accustomed. During the great Turkish feast of Bairam, we were invited to visit the wife of a wealthy Turk. After some time spent in exchange of salutations with a roomful of guests, our hostess noticed the Testament Fatima Hanum always carried in her hand and asked to see it. It fell open at the fifteenth of Luke and she began to read slowly. Just then the muezzin called to afternoon prayer. Reluctantly the lady returned the book, saying, “Excuse me, I must say my prayers but the others and come back.” nerof the great room in which ed, she took off satin robe and and performed but with her stantly given Soon she and hastened saying, “Now again.” This um did, ex- mirably while listened in- had just fin- ter when the fourteen-year-old daughter of the house came in and her mother begged for still another reading of the story “for Halide.” It was quite dark, that winter afternoon, when at last they would let us go. Then Halide begged so hard to keep the book that, especially dear as it was to Fatima Hanum, she left it with her. Eight years Fatima Hanum went up and down the steep streets of Philippopolis, nursing the sick, comforting the sorrow¬ ful, helping to heal family troubles, taking with her everywhere her Bible. Both she and her book were always treated respect- FATIMA HANUM you read to I will soon Going toacor- reception we were seat- her furlined, all her jewels her devotions, attention con- to our reading, jumped up back to us, read it all over Fatima Han- plaining it ad- all the guests tently. She ished the chap- 46 Native Helpers fully, even in the coffee shops, which she often entered to offer books for sale. She was so familiar with the Koran, as well as with the Bible that she could meet on their own ground those who attempted to argue her down. Every Friday when the weather would permit, Fatima Hanum’s neighbors and often women from the other side of the town would send word to her: “Come with us to Bunardjik (a hillside where Turkish women like to spend their weekly holiday) and bring the Book with you. Don’t forget the Book.” Many a time I’ve seen the dear old lady, sitting under the trees, surrounded by a crowd of women, one or two children in her lap, and men coming as near as they dared to listen to her. The winter before Fatima Hanum’s death, she spent much time teaching a Moslem girl to read. After finishing the primer, they read from the Gospels and the girl’s heart was deeply moved by the life and words of the Saviour. She fell ill and after a few days died, but was quiet and happy to the last. “Mother,” she said, “we have lived in darkness but there is a light, and I see it. Listen to Fatima Hanum. She will show it to you.” Every week Fatima Hanum used to come to me to tell of new doors opened, both among Turks and Armenians, for she was beloved by Christians as well as Moslems, and together we would ask God’s blessing on her efforts. She loved to meet with the Bulgarian Protestant women in their weekly meetings and, though they had no common language, there was true heart sympathy between them and her glowing face and earnest prayers were an inspiration to all. Gradually, as Fatima Hanum’s strength failed, she could no longer visit the homes where she had proved herself a friend; but her friends came to her and even in the last days, when too feeble to talk much, she would give them some verse from her precious Bible and bid them meet her in Heaven. Going into her room a few hours before her death, she greeted me with a smile, and said, “Sing to me ‘I’m a pilgrim and I’m a stranger, I can tarry, I can tarry but anight.’” She wanted all three verses; then, still holding my hand, she said, “Good night, I shall sleep now.” Through the night she murmured Fatima Hanum 47 now and then, “Coming, Lord Jesus/’ but took no notice of me, and at early dawn she entered the presence of the Lord she loved. Many Turkish women learning of the death of their friend, came to kiss her hand and to lament for her. To this day, after a lapse of ten years, I often meet some of them who say, “Ah, what a good woman she was. If she were only here now to tell us how to live!” .> NOMDEHE, AN AFRICAN PRINCESS Who Valued an Education more than Royalty By Katharine S. Hazeltine M OMDEHE dropped the bundle of dry brush she had brought from the forest at the doorway of the grass hut she called home, straightened up, threw back the thick locks of hair mixed with red clay and grease that hung over her forehead, and looked about. There, near one of the five huts within the kraal, sat her father, Chief Ndhlokolo, with his counsellors about him listening to a dispute. Shrewd and keen he is, she thought; he will make a good bargain. About her, grazed her father’s cattle and flocks of goats. Little brown boys shouted out to each other tales of the buck they had almost speared, while others exhibited long strings of locusts they had caught in the grass and had brought home to roast. A baby’s wailing cry from within the grass hut roused Nom- dehe. Gracefully she dropped to her knees and crawled through the low doorway. The new-born calf lifted its head with a gentle little “moo” as she entered. A cross old hen hatching out her eggs on the opposite side scolded and puffed herself up in anger. Two lean dogs slunk away from the fire in the center of the hut as she came toward it and made her way to a grass mat on the other side of the fire, where lay the little wailing baby. She picked him up in her arms. The woman grinding corn into meal between two heavy stones looked up as the cries ceased. “Ah! Nomdehe! All afternoon has he cried. I fear the spirits are hungry and are making him sick to tell us they need food.” She went on with her work, the flashes of light from the fire reflected on her shining black body and arms as she knelt there by it making ready the evening meal. 5 o Nati ve Help ers Under Nomdehe’s care the baby soon gurgled and crowed as seven months’ old babies will. Suddenly Nomdehe’s heart seemed to skip a beat. Anxiously she put her finger into his mouth and felt a little swollen place on his upper gum. If it should be a tooth! He would have to die else harm would come to the chief, their father. “Marne!” she gasped. Her mother turned, her gaze follow¬ ing Nomdehe’s pointed finger. The two exchanged a long, frightened look. With a quick intake of breath, “It is nothing!” the older woman said, as if to convince herself. Then as the doorway darkened she lifted her finger warningly. “Tula!” (hush) she whispered as Chief Ndhlokolo entered. After they had finished their meal and her father had gone again, Nomdehe and her mother ate what was left and the little family made merry as they sat about the fire recounting the day’s adventures. Suddenly “tap, tap, tap” was sounded softly. The mother and Nomdehe grew rigid with fear. Their anxiety held the children quiet, yet they heard only the fall of embers in the fire and the scuttling of cockroaches in the roof overhead. At last, after a long time when the tapping sounded no more, the mother relaxed. The dreaded umkovu , the little dwarfs whom the abataketi (the witch doctors) make out of dead people, had not brought evil to their kraal this night. They had done well to keep still. The frightened children, rolling themselves up in dirty blankets lay down on their mats on the floor and slept, but Nomdehe lay wide awake, conscious of each noise until she saw the blue light of early morning through the low doorway. Hungry for something, she knew not what, Nomdehe rose from her mat and, taking her hoe, left the enclosure for the garden and the cornfield. All day hoeing, planting, harvesting, carrying water from the river, huge bundles of brush for the fire, grinding corn into meal, she worked, and not until the whip-poor-wills began to call and the shadows deepened on the hills, did she turn wearily toward home. There she found a great crowd of folk gathered in the center of the kraal listening to a man. Nomdehe stood at the edge Nomdehe 51 of the crowd. For awhile she hardly heard the words of the stranger. Ah! what was that he said? There was one Jesus who loved little children. That was not like the umkovu. or Tikoloshe—Tikoloshe, who dwelt in the black pools, always ready to reach out and drag little children below the dark waters. Intent now, she listened to the beautiful story Pastor Jwili told about one feared, a them all. That speaker was was quiet, awake again, Jesus who loved the morning she the preacher tell her more, from that time slipped away and went to the bush where of the wonder- began herself to book which told One dreadful Chief Ndhlo- what Nomdehe was worth one of cattle to him. allow her value by such fool- NOMDEHE a God whom no God who loved night after the gone and all Nomdehe lay thinking of this children. In would find out and ask him to Day after day, on, Nomdehe from the kraal Pastor Jwili in she heard more ful story and learn to read a of Jesus, day, however, kolo discovered was doing. She hundred head He could not to be lessened ishness as that nonsense of Pastor Jwili’s. He would have to beat her well. Poor Nomdehe! She lay in her hut, miserable, the great welts on her back and arms aching not more than her heart because she had been forbidden to go again to Pastor Jwili’s school. For some time she endured the old life. She was conscious, however, as she swung the hoe, or carried brush from the forest, of longing for something else, something more. The life they 5 2 Native Help ers had talked about at Pastor Jwili’s had satisfied this hunger; and they had spoken of a place where girls could stay and learn how to live this new kind of life. She resolved to wait no longer. She would go to the boarding school at Inanda and implore the kind women there to take her. That evening she lay tense. It seemed as if her mother and brothers would never sleep, as if all the sounds in the kraal would never cease, but finally she crept out of the hut and was soon out and away. Her heart beat with terror. To walk alone through the bush in the dark which all her life long she had been taught to fear—- Tikoloshe, umkovu y the izinsweloboya y cruel people who roam the bush at night seeking whom they can find to murder. Yet the thought of the loving Jesus, of whom she had heard Pastor Jwili tell, drove away her fear. She held her breath to listen to the crackling of a twig in the brush, her heart throbbed a little faster, yet she walked out into the night. Before morning the forest lay behind her and running quickly over the hills and wading through rivers, she soon reached the school. Nomdehe did not have long to wonder at the strange¬ ness of this scene: the high buildings, the glistening places in the white walls through which one could see, the doorways where girls moved in and out, without crawling on hands and knees. Soon friendly girls in pink dresses smiled at her and asked her story. They knew well how she felt and took her to kind “Mother Edwards,” the principal, who heard it all and said she might have refuge there. How her smiling eyes warmed Nomdehe’s heart! Like sunlight in the quiet pools, she thought. For two days Nomdehe lived as she had never lived before. In the studies of the morning, in the work of the garden or fetching wood and water of the afternoon, in the friendliness of the other girls, Nomdehe’s old longing was satisfied. On the third day they called her, saying that her mother had come to take her home. Nomdehe seemed frozen with terror. Take her back to the kraal, away from this happy place? Mrs. Edwards replied to her unspoken question. “You do not have to go away unless you wish. Your mother cannot force you to \yy go! Nomdehe 53 She went out to the porch of the house. There stood her mother wrapped in a filthy blanket. “I cannot go back with you, mame,” said Nomdehe gently. Her mother alternately threw herself flat on the ground on her stomach and raised herself by her hands and feet, wailing at the top of her voice. Screaming and fairly howling with rage, she threatened to burn down the house if Nomdehe were not given to her. Nomdehe, firm and quiet, listened. When she could bear to hear her mother no longer—she knew she could not go back to that life of fear and hardship—she slipped away and hid herself in the cornfields behind the school until the shadows lengthened. Then one of the teachers concealed her for the night and the next day, until her mother, still wailing, had gone back to the kraal. In a few days there appeared several headmen of the tribe sent by the chief to bring her back. How fierce they looked in their aprons of monkeys’ tails and necklaces of tigers’ claws! They brandished their knob kerries till their bead bracelets rattled. Their spears flashed in the sun as they threatened and pleaded: “Thou art a princess, Nomdehe, worth one hundred head of cattle. Thou wilt be a chief wife.” Nomdehe shook her head. To exchange this life for that! She shuddered. “Thou wilt bring disgrace upon thy tribe and thy great name.” Nomdehe pointed to the rose bush in full bloom by her side. “Do you see those flowers there?” she said. “They are very beautiful today. Let the sun shine on them a few days and how will they look then? This royalty of which you talk to me is like that. I don’t care about it. It is just nothing /” “But think of your poor father. Who will bring water for him to make his beer?” Nomdehe only smiled at this, remembering the many other daughters on whom he might call, remembering too, that they were not worth so many cattle as she. The headmen found threats and persuasions alike of no avail. They returned without her. 54 Native Helpers A few weeks later came a messenger. “Nomdehe, your mother is ill, dying. She cries to see you.” What should she do? Was this truth or a lie? Fortunately Preacher Jwili gave a timely warning. It was a hoax. The girl refused to go. When school closed at the end of the term Nomdehe returned to her home. What a welcome she had! When her father learned that she had come, he tore the clothes from her back and beat her. She lay still in the hut till she could make her escape to the bush. Here in hiding, covered by her shawl, she waited through the night and in the morning made her way back to Inanda. After a year at the school, she ventured home again. Poor Nomdehe! For over six months she was kept a prisoner, closely guarded. She was not allowed to speak to passing Christians. Her Testament she had to read by stealth in the bush. Yet, as she went about her tasks, she tried to show in her care for others what the love of Jesus was. One day when all the family had gone to a beer-drink, came her opportunity. She took out her neat clothes, kept carefully all this time, and gladly putting them on again, escaped to the refuge at Inanda. How she rejoiced to be there! How gladly they received her! Several weeks went by. Then came the alarming report that Chief Ndhlokolo, the father, had gone to the English magistrate and was soon coming to take away not only Nomdehe but her other sisters who had come to the school. Their hearts were sad at this threatened danger. Fervently they prayed that they might stay. When their father appeared in state with his retinue, instead of angrily demanding his daughters, he quietly accepted Mrs. Edwards’s invitation to enter and be seated. His daughters were summoned and sat meekly on the floor before him anxiously awaiting his words in silence. “Come, let us go,” he finally said. Then Nomdehe found courage to plead earnestly that they might remain in school till the end of the term. “Then, father, we will go home willingly.” To their joy he went quietly away, leaving them at the school. Nomdehe 55 Nomdehe continued to attend school at Inanda Seminary and finally became a trusted teacher of others who, like herself found refuge here from the life of the kraal. One of her sisters was also a teacher at Inanda and at out-station schools, becom¬ ing afterwards the wife of a Christian preacher. What joy it was to Nomdehe to see her mother a member of the Inquirers’ Class when her old friend, Preacher Jwili, was ordained at the little church near her old home! What joy to have her father say as he did to some of her white friends not many years ago: “Yes, it was the missionaries who told us about God. Before they came we just sat here in darkness. How the witch-doctors used to fool us! Now we know better. You have told us the truth about God. Yet all who say they are believers do not act like real Christians. Some of the members of the church commit the same sins that my people in the kraals commit. That I don’t like. If a man says he chooses the Lord, then he should be different from those who have not professed to do so. The trouble is, some men put religion on and off just as they do coats and trousers. That’s not right. “I see differently from the way I used to see. Years ago I opposed the idea of children going to school. I don’t do so any more. The only complaint I now have is that the missionaries don’t keep our boys and girls at school long enough. They come back not half ripe. They must be taught all the books and all the industries. Some people say this peaceful condition is due to the white man’s government. But I don’t think so. Could the government keep us Zulus from fighting? No, in¬ deed. This peace is due not to laws but to preaching!” The old chief has died and now one of Nomdehe’s half brothers is chief in his stead. Nomdehe’s mother has become a Chris¬ tian. Because she is not well and needs her, Nomdehe has been obliged to give up teaching and is living with her mother in the kraal. In spite of her pagan surroundings, she appears a bright, earnest Christian. She has not yet married, perhaps because a Christian young man cannot afford to marry the Chief’s daughter; yet she finds much to do and is a faithful church member. How she must rejoice as year by year she sees many of her Zulu sisters finding in the love of Jesus, the perfect love which casteth out fear! DONA FELICITAS OF MEXICO The Founder of a Church By Sara B. Howland OWN in the fertile valley of the Santiago River lies the little village of San Miguel. It is really not much more than a ranch, with its clusters of tiny houses made of adobe, or often of interwoven twigs, and thatched roofs; with only one street, the others being mere paths here and there leading to the different homes with little semblance of regularity. There is an ancient-looking Catholic church and a room where the children shout their lessons in the nerve-racking manner of Oriental countries, and sometimes there is an open window through which some ambitious man sells matches and pins together with native liquors and a few groceries. From here, years ago, a widow made her way into the city of Guadalajara, carrying her little girl of five years, hoping to gain a livelihood. The lands left her by her husband were hopelessly entangled in lawsuits. In those little villages, scarcely anybody can “read the title clear,” for houses and lands are “pawned” again and again, and it is difficult to divide a small property satisfactorily among a dozen relatives, no one of whom has any money with which to buy out the rest! So Dona Felicitas, strong and determined to get an education for her children, left the sleepy village behind her and soon found herself working in the kitchen of the mission school for girls, where she first entered with fear and trembling, not knowing what would befall her among the terrible protestantes. It was the custom of the house that all should attend morning prayers and not more than two or three days passed before Dona Felicitas was there with radiant face. In her case, there was no long struggle with old convictions. She had long been 5 8 Nati ve Help ers waiting for just such a message of love and good will, and her spirit leaped into the fellowship of believers. Her warm heart made her beloved at once by teachers and pupils, and her happy nature, like her name which was as pro¬ phetic as that of many an old patriarch, gave her a wonderful influence over all with whom she came in contact. Faithful in her work, motherly towards all the girls—maybe a little too easy-going for perfect discipline, the teachers felt sometimes— but, after all, she was such a comfortable person to have around. If she occasionally saved a torta from her own supper for the naughty child “who had to go to bed by day,” one might be oblivious. It was our Responsibility (with a capital), but of course she had never studied Pedagogy and could be forgiven for lapses! The joyful experience of Dona Felicitas could not long be kept to herself. As soon as she really grasped the thought of the Infinite Love that had sought her, of relief from the crushing sense of unforgiven sin and from the impossibility of ever getting plenary absolution, she yearned with all her heart to win her own brother, Benigno. The opportunity soon came, for he made frequent visits to the city, riding the forty miles on his old white mare, or spending several days on the way driving a train of donkeys with their loads of corn or sugar cane to sell. Don Benigno was also named by inspiration. Truly he was “the benign man,” a real gentleman of the old school, in loose white trousers and blouse, his striped serape over his shoulders, his broad sombrero with silver cord covering his gray head. Gentle of manner and of soft, slow speech was Don Benigno, saluting with courteous gravity, as we found him in the quaint old kitchen with Dona Felicitas. Even so might Jacob have stood before Pharaoh in Egypt, with the quiet dignity of an an¬ cient race showing through all his deliberate movements. We were all drawn to him at once and it seemed most natural that he should be served with dinner “in a lordly dish” of brown pottery and that Dona Felicitas should take out her big Bible as soon as the kitchen was tidy for the afternoon. He stayed a day or two, listening intently, finally reading the New Testa¬ ment for himself, as he had more education than many of his Dona Felicitas 59 village companions; and when he returned to his home with a Bible of his own, he was as one with a new vision. The two at once began to work in their village and as there were many relatives of the same good old stock, simple-hearted people eager to learn the truth, the leaven of the Gospel began to work in an extraordinary manner. Soon Dona Felicitas asked to have some of the brethren of the church go down to hold services in a house belonging to her sister. Strangely enough, it was the only house in the whole village with an “upper room,” and it was quite a landmark as one entered the narrow street, not far from the neglected Catholic church where, at very irregular intervals, a priest came to say mass and to baptize all the new babies of the flock. Next, the missionary was invited to visit the new believers and to strengthen them in their faith; and an exciting experience he had. Though the priest had long neglected this little parish, the presence of the foreigner aroused the opposition of the fanatics. The tall grass that lined the path to the village was tied in many places to trip the stranger and groups of excited men and women beat on pans and pails in a derisive welcome. The service went on, however, and the room was filled with earnest inquirers, asking questions and wishing to buy Bibles and Testaments for their own use. A school came next and the first graduate of Corona Institute in Guadalaja, Tomasa Perez, willingly went to throw her whole heart into a work of teaching day school and night classes and Sunday school and leading Christian Endeavor meetings. Strange tales were circulated as to the way in which the protestantes were worshiping a young virgin; and those who did not go to see what really was happening circulated the story that a goat was sac¬ rificed at the meetings, and that the blood of young children was sold as a medicine. But the Word grew and multiplied and before long theie were fourteen Christians who desired to form a church organization. So “letters missive” were written to the churches and delegates were appointed and, one day, a happy band of us went down from Guadalajara to take part in the great occasion. The brethren and sisters had made great preparation for the event, under the 6o Native Helpers direction of Dona Felicitas, the organizer and the moving spirit of the place. The young people had brought branches and flowers from the mountain and the long dark room which was to be used as a church—it had not even a window—was decorated with brilliant yellow blossoms. Seats had been made of logs, a baby organ was brought from the city, an ancient decanter and glasses formed the communion set. We missionaries were lodged in the upper room, reached by a precipitous stairway. There were two great windows open towards the mountain and on the walls were nests of the birds which flew back and forth over our heads in the early morning. And the collation! Do not think that these dear people had to be instructed that when a council is called it is the custom for the delegates to eat copiously of viands prepared by the sisters of the church! Their natural hospitality was sufficient. There was a long table covered by cloths of drawn work and crochet, dishes collected from every home; turkeys, chickens, the ancient moly , famed since the time of Homer, with its seasoning of chocolate and sesame, pipian , the sabroso dish served at wed¬ dings, tortillas hot from the griddle, fruit and the fragrant cara- colillo coffee with odors surpassing those of Araby the Blest. The crowning service was in the evening, when house, patio and street were packed with people. We have been in many a gathering representing the spiritual power and Christian culture of the finest churches of the United States, but never have we felt more deeply the presence of the Holy Spirit. It was a solemn moment when the fourteen believers stood with hands clasped, forming a circle in the center of the room and took the vow to be loyal members of the new Congregational Church in San Miguel. And most faithfully did these charter members work for the upbuilding of the faith. The church never has had a settled pastor, as all the members have found it hard to provide even the necessities of life for their own families, yet it has held together although nearly all of the original band has passed to the Church on high. Dona Felicitas was one of the first to go. She had left her work in the school and taken rooms in the city, rooms always full of guests from her village, together with every wandering soul who needed Dona Felicitas 61 a home. How kind she was to poor Juan Rosas, one of the young men who walked a thousand miles to attend the Colegio In- ternacional! He became a colporter and was doing good work in his field when he was found to have contracted tuberculosis. He could not remain in the school, his home was far away—what should he do? Dona Felicitas answered the question. With loving hospitality she took him into her small home and tenderly cared for him until his death. Soon afterwards she herself contracted pneumonia and, after a short struggle, full of faith in her Saviour, she went into the presence of the Master whom she served so faithfully. Dear Felicitas has never been forgotten. Many there are who owe to her their entrance into Light, many who miss her cheery smile and never-failing help. We are told that “happy” and “blessed” mean the same in Biblical phrasing, and we love to follow the thought in the life of Felicitas. To the very end she fulfilled the symbolism, “blessing and blessed.” . DATE DUE ■■3 1 7 ’jq 1 7 70 GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.S A. JUBILEE ISSUE 1917