NOT very long ago what was called "A Missionary Exhibition" was held in one of the largest buildings in London; for the three weeks during which it remained open it was visited every weekday by numbers of people. Grown-up people were there in crowds, but there was also a fair sprinkling of boys and girls, who took an intelligent interest in what they saw, and really wanted to learn all they could about the dark places of the earth. They will not, I think, soon forget the delightful stories, told by more than one missionary, of the people among whom he or she (for more than one lady missionary told us about Chinese women or Indian schoolgirls) had been seeking to make known the sweet story of salvation through the precious blood of Christ.
“What was to be seen?" I am afraid that if I were to try to write down the names of all the articles exhibited you would not think the first chapter of "From Scottish Moors to African Swamps" an interesting one, and might not even care to read the second; so I will only name two or three.
In the "Indian Court" some very beautiful shawls were shown, made by native workmen. A loom, so simple and almost clumsy that it was not easy to believe that stuffs so varied in design and rich in color could have been woven upon it, was also shown. Carved work in ivory, and chains and necklets of Indian gold met the eye at every turn, but from all the forms of beauty and blaze of color many turned sadly away to look at the idols, of which quite a number were on view. Some were large, others small-all were ugly, and some almost shapeless; and yet these senseless idols are feared by millions of men, women and children, many of whom obey the same laws as ourselves.
In another court, bright with Chinese fans, lanterns and umbrellas, a medical missionary, at home on furlough, was telling how sick people are often treated in China. They cannot have a good time, and often have to suffer a great deal of needless pain. A native doctor has no need to learn much about different kinds of illnesses, their cause and cure; he will not be required to "walk the hospitals." His stock-in-trade usually consists of one or two books, some packets of herbs, a bundle of charms and a few large, dirty needles. Chinese doctors are, as a rule, very fond of using these needles, but as they take no trouble to keep them clean, their use often not only causes severe pain, but leaves worse trouble than the doctor at first attempted to cure.
A poor woman who was quite blind had, the doctor said, been brought to the Mission Hospital where he had worked, and to which he hoped very soon to return. She had been suffering from bad headaches, causing great pain in her eyes. She was taken by her friends to a native doctor, who said he must prick her eyes to let the pain out. He did so, in such a way that her sight was destroyed, and for the rest of her life she was hopelessly blind.
When a sick person goes to a Chinese doctor, who usually wears a long, loose coat (something like a dressing gown, made of green or plum-colored silk), very large spectacles, and has his finger nails sometimes from two to three inches in length, carefully protected by small coverings of bamboo, the doctor opens a box about two feet in length, mumbles a charm over it, and after in a very solemn manner opening it, tells the patient to take one from a number of small bamboo canes, on each of which a number is given, and the sick man pays his fee, and goes away quite satisfied with the care bestowed upon him.
A peep at the "Far North" would be interesting, but we must not linger among the snow huts in which the Esquimaux live and sleep. They take long journeys in sledges drawn by reindeer or dogs and have very clever ways of catching seals and fish. The brave little band of missionaries who live and work in these cold countries often have to endure great hardships; and as mail steamers only visit some of the ports once a year, we may be sure that their, opportunities of getting home-letters and new books are few and far between.
But I have not told you anything about the African exhibits, and we shall find them of more than common interest. Day after day groups, varying from ten to twelve and fifty to sixty, gathered round a printing-press. Was there anything remarkable about it?
I think not. It was old-fashioned, a trifle clumsy, and had few, if any, of the improvements that of late years have done so much to perfect the art of printing; and yet the hearts of christian men and women were deeply moved as they read on a card the simple but touching story of how on that very press, in far-off Uganda, in the very heart of heathen Africa, the first scripture portions ever seen in that dark land had been printed.
“Who took the press there?" Alexander Mackay, who will long be remembered as the pioneer missionary of Uganda. The story of his useful and unselfish life is a deeply interesting one, and if in thought we follow step by step the way in which he was fitted for his life-work among African swamps, we shall, I hope, learn some lessons of patience, courage and simple trust in God.
His life-story, written by his sister, lies before me as I write, and from it we learn that on a dull, cheerless day in the autumn of the year 1849 there was rejoicing in a Scottish home over the arrival of a baby boy. The father, a godly, well-informed man, who preached every Lord's day in the neighboring church, or "kirk," as he would have called it, and when not visiting among his poor or sick neighbors spent much time in his study, decided that the little stranger should be named Alexander.
The father looked with a strange blending of pride and tenderness on his firstborn, and when his eyes turned from the face of the unconscious infant, they rested upon a picture that always hung just above his writing-table. It was that of a man somewhat past middle life, whose strongly marked and almost rugged features told their own tale alike of suffering and resolution. It was that of John Knox, the Scottish reformer, whose fearless preaching had kept a purer faith than that of Rome alive in many of his countrymen and women.
“God bless the wee laddie," said the father, "and grant that he may grow up to love and serve his Maker as John Knox did, who never feared to preach the faith of his fathers before priests, and did not quail before the scepter of a queen.”
“If he be like his mother he'll have a gentler spirit and a softer heart than that good man had, though I doubt not that he was raised up by God to meet the need of the times he lived in, sir," was the reply of Annie Mc-William, the old housekeeper who had lived for many years in the family, and like most upper servants in those days stood on very friendly terms with her employers.