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WAS born and reared in Western North
Carolina, the Switzerland of America,
where the blue mountains are piled on
top of each other until the topmost ones
pierce the azure of cragland. In the
lowlands there is much that is beautiful,
but nothing that satisfies my soul as
the mountains do. In Florida forests
there is a weirdness of nature rarely
-
found elsewhere. The staggering vines and long
festoons of gray moss, the thickets, vocal with bird
songs, thrill you through and through; but in the
mountains there is a real grandeur and a new glory
every morning.
Fifteen years ago I turned my face towards the
Coast Country, and have only spent a few weeks
amid the scenes of my childhood since. Have just
returned from my last visit there, and the memories
linger with me like the aroma of flowers.
There was the sky, with its daily wander;
The night, with its wealth of starry gold;
The purple twilight, warm and tender,
Kissing the mountains old.
But the one thing that pulled me half across the
continent was not the sky, nor mountain, nor stars,
nor twilight, but an axiety born of love to see and
clasp again to my bosom my precious mother.
I renewed my youth. The neighbors gathered in,
in good old country style, and we talked of the long
ago. The rich red blood of boyhood rushed again
into my veins and my finger-tips tingled with the en
thusiasm of other days. We had our song-books, and
sang just like we did when I was a boy. There was
no organ to suggest anything artificial —everything
was as it used to be—natural. The boys and girls
sat in a semi-circle and the leader sounded the key
note, then all took up their parts—some alto, some
tenor, some bass and others “the leading part”. At
•the hour of midnight we were still singing and talk
ing and talking and singing.
I preached in the little church where I was
licensed to “exercise in public” some fifteen years
ago. Gathered there was a goodly company of
mountaineers, friends of my boyhood, and as loyal
friends as any man ever had. Among them were my
two brothers, two sisters and dear old mother. My
father lay on the hillside to the rear of the little
church. It was a tender hour. My heart melted.
Jesus seemed lovelier and closer than ever before in
my life. The singing was rapturous, and when at
last my mother began shouting praises to God, my
cup of joy jostled over just a bit.
The next day we “crossed the mountain” into the
country where I first saw the light thirty-seven years
O words seem so appropriate when I think
of our dear sister, Hattie Lang's, home
going.
After a little over a week’s illness with
that dread disease, black smallpox, she
literally “fell asleep” to wake no more un
til that glad day when “them that sleep in
Jesus will God bring with Him.” I Thes.
4:14.
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It was a'l so sudden we can scarcely realize it. To
think of that bright young life, radiant with life and
health and over-flowing with the gladness of the Lord,
and then in so short a time to be cut off, seems one
of the things hard to be understood. But we know
our God, and know He does all things well, so we look
away from this lonely grave in China and by faith see
her a glorified spirit in the presence of the Saviour
she loved so well, and served so faithfully. We see
th-2 “corn of wheat fallen to the ground” and by faith
see the abundant harvest, for God says it will not
abide alone but “bring forth much fruit.’’ John 12:24.
She had made good progress in the Chinese lan
guage this last year, and also endeared herself to
the people by her wholehearted sacrifice and love
towards them. There are many sorrowing hearts
among the Chinese as well as the missionaries.
A WEEK IN THE MOUNTAINS
CALEB A. RIDLEY.
ASLEEP IN JESUS
The Golden Age for September 22, 1910.
ago. The Baptist Association was in session in sight
of the old home place where my father was born and
where, twenty years later, I was born. I could stand
on the church steps and see the very spot. Then,
just across the branch, not fifty yards away, still
•stands the little school-house in which I was “born
again”. The Association adjourned at 11 o’clock and
asked me to preach. Before speaking, I excused my
self for ten minutes and went to the old school-house
and knelt inside its deserted walls, as nearly as pos
sible on the very spot where I was kneeling “when
;j! CALEB A. RIDLEY.
the burden of my heart rolled away”, and I gave my
life into Jesus’ hands. Kneeling there, I thanked
Him for saving me years ago and for blessing me
through all the years since then.
But back to the church, for the people are waiting!
I knew almost every face. There was the man whose
brother led my father to Christ. Sitting beside him
was another preacher, who was my boon companion
in sin when I lived in the mountains. Crouched
down in the aisle was the man for whom I hoed to
bacco more than twenty-five years ago for the enor
mous sum of 18 cents per day, with which I bought
my first school books. On the front seat sat the old
woman who went out in the audience and led me to
Jesus, and just behind her sat my mother.
During her sickness she wJ,s spared the mental suf
fering and spiritual darkness many have experienced
with this disease. She was at perfect rest about the
outcome of her sickness. “Only let the Name of
the Lord be glorified,” was her remark when told the
serious condition, and the nature of the disease.
After dictating a letter for her friends and also
what she wished done with her things here in China,
she again said, “The time is short. I wi’l soon be
with my Father. Praise Him. Good-bye, I’m going
Home. GLORY! GLORY! GLORY!”
While it seems as though her sun had gone down
while it was yet day we know her work will still go
on both here in China and in the lives she touched
for God in the homeland. How often have I heard
her plead in prayer for the pupils she had taught in
school and the Sunday school children whom she
loved so dearly. These prayers are yet to come down
in blessing as the years come and go.
Dear friends, what was it made Hattie Lang's
life a power and blessing to all with whom she came
in contcact, so that as one friend wrote, “I declare
you influence me more though thousands of miles
awhy than those right around me. You set such a
good example of right living, and were always so
unselfish, that I don’t see how one could be with
To speak amid such surroundings was almost too
much for me. The lines of Scripture all ran together
and I laid the Bible down. The hush was holy. The
sobs which came from the sympathetic friends In the
audience were eloquent to the last degree. At last
I announced my text and spoke on “WHAT JESUS
CLAIMED FOR HIMSELF”. Three times I tried to
stop with the sermon unfinished, but the good-hearted
country folks would not have it, so I went on and on
until I had spoken an hour and thirty-five minutes,
the congregation still present and awake! Twice
during the sermon Mrs. Gibbs (the woman who led
me to Jesus) and my mother interrupted the services
by shouting. What a blessed interruption!
Standing on the outside, looking in at a window,
was Gum. Dalton, the man “who made liquor and
kept the grocery” when I was a boy. I had carried
gallon after gallon from his “grocery” for my father
and others. As I caught his eye through the window,
I saw the big tears stealing down over his round, red
face, and I thanked God for such a Gospel as we
have to offer men. He told me after the service that
he was a Christian and giving the last days of his
life to the service of God. Putting his strong arms
around me, he breathed a prayer for my success, and
Heaven came down to earth, and my soul witnessed
the wedlock.
While at my mother’s I saw the spot where I led
my first convert to Jesus. He was an old man and
very wicked. I was passing along the road and saw
him driving the cows to the “milk gap”. Feeling led
to speak to him, I waited until he came up to where
I stood. I was embarrassed and do not know how I
began, but at last we were engaged talking over the
subject of religion. Finally he assured me that there
was no chance for him. Naming a man who had
been murdered some years before near the very spot
where we stood, he said: “I did it, and with the pull
ing of that trigger my doom was sealed. God can not
save me. I have gone too long and too far.”
Then I asked him if he had any objection to my
praying for him. In a trembling voice, he assured
me that he had none, and we knelt by the side of the
fence and I began trying to pray. Finally, as we still
knelt, I suggested to him that he pray after me the
prayer that I prayed. I can hear him yet, feeling his
way along the tear-stained path that leads to the gates
of gold. I dropped out of the prayer altogether, but he
was so interested that he took no notice of it. On
and on he prayed, until about the time the shadows
of evening gathered close about us, the light of
God’s morning broke in upon his soul, and he
climbed up out of that fence corner with his face to
wards heaven and joy-bells ringing in his heart.
you and not be made better.” Was it not because
she had given the Lord Jesus the right of way in
heart and life? His will was first, however hard
it might be to the flesh. She had such a keen realiza
tion of His great sacrifice on Calvary that no service
or sacrifice seemed hard. “All her trust on Him was
stayed,” and she fully trusted the clensing power of
His blood, and knew the indwelling of the Holy
Spirit. O, that this might be the means of causing
some who read these lines to enter into this b’essed
life of walking -with Jesus!
“1 shall know Him by the print of the nails in His
hands,” and “My Beloved is mine and I am His,” were
two entries in her Diary of late.
She has already seen those nail-scarred hands and
Looked into the face of her “Beloved.” O glorious
thought. It is glory and gain for her though sorrow
and loss for us.
The fields, white unto harvest, can ill afford to
spare a single worker, but we bow in submission to
the Lord of the harvest, and still prays, send forth
more laborers into Thy harvest—even dark South
Chih-li field (and all this dark world) for Jesus’ sake—
Amen. Her friend and co-laborer,
MAY H TAGGART.
Tai Ming Fu, N. China, July 15, 1910.
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