fire.' At 8.30 we again met for united prayer, and still that power gathered and increased. Mr. Taylor read the 90th Psalm. We continued in prayer and singing till the year ended, and at twelve partook of the Lord's Supper. A holier time I have never known."

And there was need for such inward strengthening. In spite of success—because, indeed, of the footing gained in some places, there was great and increasing opposition in others. From his sick-bed, only a few weeks earlier, Mr. Taylor had been carried to the Governor's ya-men to report in person the ill-usage of Mr. McCarthy's helpers, who had been set upon and almost beaten to death in Hu-chow. As soon as he could travel, he had gone direct to the scene of the riot, living himself in a boat within the turbulent city, and giving two weeks of careful, patient effort to smoothing matters over, only to find that for the time being foreigners must retire. No sooner had the new year dawned than Mr. Williamson was driven out of another important city, through attacks on those who had befriended him; and Mr. Taylor, who was making a tour of the older stations, was overtaken with the tidings that Kin-hwa-fu had had to be given up.

"I went to see the poor fellow in prison," Mr. Williamson wrote of the middleman who by order of the Mandarin had suffered three thousand blows. "His back and legs were severely swollen and bruised. He was shut up in a den with a number of criminals, confined like so many wild beasts in a cage. The weather was very cold, and there seemed every probability of the poor fellow losing his life from the treatment he had received. . . . Next morning the landlord was sent for to the ya-men, while the mother and wife of the imprisoned man were threatening to commit suicide, blaming us for bringing all this trouble upon them. The same day, in order to save these poor people from further ill-usage, we left the house . . . returning to Hang-chow."

...

It was proving harder even than had been anticipated, this pioneering work-yet how Mr. Taylor's heart went out to the Christless multitudes around them! Crossing the beautiful district of Tai-chow-fu for the first time, he was profoundly impressed with its countless villages and hamlets

among the mountains as well as the towns and cities of its populous plains.

"

"Are there no servants of our common Lord rusting away at home," he wrote to Mr. Berger, or at least doing work that others would do if they left it, who might be out here among these numberless towns and villages?

"As we passed the gate of one little town, a coffin was being borne to its last resting-place.

'Alas!' said the native Christian with me, if the Gospel were preached in this place to-day, it would be too late for that poor man.'

"Yes, and for how many more will it be too late! My thoughts were busied, now with the untold need of the unoccupied provinces, now with the neglected districts of this province, until I was compelled to roll the burden on the Lord, and cry to Him for wisdom to dispose aright of those He may send to help me, and to plead for more native and foreign workers."

Very easily, as one can see, might the whole Mission have become absorbed in that one coast-board province, small though it was among all the provinces of China. But, providentially, door after door was closed. Riots, disturbances, sickness, and other troubles hindered developments that would have tended in this direction, and gradually, almost insensibly, Mr. Taylor's own way seemed guided northward.

"If you will not smile at my planning in our dining-room," Mr. Berger had written in a letter that crossed Mr. Taylor's quoted above, "I will tell you my musings concerning your future movements. I fancy you will some day transfer your headquarters to some desirable city or town very near the Yangtze River, perhaps within easy reach of Hang-chow. Thus you would, I suppose, have access to a Consul, and facilities for going to Shanghai and up the river, so as to reach many provinces. The LORD guide you in all things: 'He that believeth shall not make haste.'

It was not easy after sixteen months in Hang-chow to face the thought of leaving the work that had become so dear to them for "some desirable city near the Yangtze " in which to begin all over again. Fifty baptized believers

were gathered already in the little church under Pastor Wang's care, and there were many inquirers. But Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy and Miss Faulding would remain in charge of the station and be quite able to receive and help new workers. Duncan at Nanking was sorely needing relief, and Mrs. Taylor was ready to go either there or anywhere else as the work seemed to require. But much had to be considered as spring came on, and the noon prayer meetings were times of real drawing near to God.

To Mr. and Mrs. Judd, who had recently arrived from home, all this was very memorable.

"It really was building the wall in troublous times," he wrote of those days: one never knew what friends who were away might be suffering. Scarcely any station was opened without a riot. The noon meetings were solemn hours-often prolonged, because there was so much to pray about. One feels the thrill of them still."

The quiet courage of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, taking up themselves the pioneering work in which experience was so needed, specially impressed Mrs. Judd.

"

One always felt braver when with them," she recalled, more able to endure hardness. One seemed to catch something of their spirit. Those solemn hours of waiting upon God when we first reached Hang-chow can never be forgotten. The powers of darkness seemed so real, as one stronghold after another was attacked by our small band of workers. But the presence of the Lord was more real, as Mr. Taylor pleaded that' with all boldness' we might speak His Word, and that the Name of Jesus might be glorified; and we were confident that victory would be the Lord's and ours."

But the leader of the Mission, conscious only of weakness in himself, was taken up with Another.

"I am sure you never forget us at the Throne of Grace," he had written to his mother, thinking of what the coming summer might mean to wife and children. "I try to live a day at a time, and even so have enough to do; but though I try, I do not always succeed. Pray for more faith, more love, more wisdom for me. What could I do without the promise, Lo, I am with you alway' ? "

What then? Why then another pilgrim song;
And then a hush of rest divinely granted;
And then a thirsty stage (ah me, so long !)

And then a brook, just where it most is wanted.

What then? The pitching of the evening tent;

And then, perchance, a pillow rough and thorny; And then some sweet and tender message sent,

To cheer the faint one for to-morrow's journey.

What then? The wailing of the midnight wind,
A fev'rish sleep; a heart opprest and aching ;
And then a little water cruse to find,

Close by my pillow, ready for my waking.

What then?

I am not careful to inquire :

I know there will be tears, and fears, and sorrow; And then a loving Saviour drawing nigher,

And saying, "I will answer for the morrow."

What then? For all my sins His pardoning grace,
For all my wants and woes His loving kindness;
For darkest shades the shining of God's face;
And Christ's own hand to lead me in my blindness.

What then? A shadowy valley lone and dim,
And then a deep and darkly rolling river;
And then a flood of light-a seraph hymn

And God's own smile, for ever and for ever.