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REV. CHAS. C. PAINTER.

The recent death of Prof. Painter has removed a most useful and efficient worker in behalf of the Indians. He died at his home in Washington, of heart disease, after an illness of only twelve hours. He was sixty-two years old, born in Virginia, but resident for most of his life in New England, where he was an acceptable pastor. He was called from that position into the service of the American Missionary Association, acting for a time as Professor in Fisk University. He, however, soon gave his life to promoting the education and civilization of the Indians, and for ten years was connected with the Indian Rights Association. It was a tribute to his knowledge and service in the Indian work that about a year ago he was appointed a member of the Board of Indian Commissioners.

ONE MISSIONARY DAY.

At work again. Back from the rest and change of the summer vacation. Leaving behind friends and home, comforts and pleasures, and nearly all the advantages of civilization. But coming to a greater joy, a higher privilege than any of these can afford—the "high calling" of our Master, to minister to poor, needy souls in His name.

So with great happiness we gather up the loose threads and the dropped stitches of last year's work, and start anew. Come with us through one day, and taste a few of a missionary's joys. After our household tasks are over, and we have gained new power from our daily devotions, we start out on our work. Over one hundred boys and girls give us bright greetings as we ride past. We must go on horseback, as there are no good roads in our vicinity.

We are entirely compassed about with mountains; on every side they lift their grand heads in everlasting testimony of the wonderful handiwork of the Almighty. But we have little time to gaze upon their beauty, for more precious creations of the same great Hand are needing our attention.

See this little hovel, built of rough logs, scarcely serving to keep out the wind or the rain. Let us enter. A most pitiful sight awaits us. The fever has been before us. For months it has raged, and two human souls have been taken from the family which dwells here. On a rude filthy bed lies the wasted frame of a once stalwart man. He is as feeble as the infant; a wan child is sitting near by. The mother, in tattered garments, totters about her work, so enfeebled by the disease that her strength is inadequate for her tasks. Three of the children are nothing [pg 104] but skeletons, and sit listlessly on the floor, taking but little notice of anything going on about them.

The thin faces light up at sight of us, and a cordial welcome is extended. The only whole chair is brought forward for our use. You might expect a torrent of complaints from these poor creatures. But no, instead come words of praise to God that He had spared so many of their lives, that He had been with them in their sufferings.

A year ago, when we visited this hut, we found them stolid and indifferent, caring nothing for spiritual things. The woman sat smoking over the fire, scarcely vouchsafing us a word, and muttered to a crony, "Wot's thet thar woman nosing 'bout yere for? She'd er heap sight better let we uns erlone."

It was very hard to ask permission to hold prayers with them in such a hostile atmosphere, but it is our duty to "sow beside all waters," so we proffered our request.

"Yer kin ef yer mines ter. I haint er carin'," was the ungracious reply.

But what a change now. The woman's face glows with a light that only comes from the "light of the world." "God's been mighty good ter we uns," she says. "Ef hit hedn't ben fer Him we'd er died. An' we uns air bound ter do ez near right ez we kin, an' serve ther Lord, ther hull lot on us."

Does it not make our own hearts glow to hear such words, and see the wonders God hath wrought? And with thanksgiving we read and pray with them, and strengthen their faith with God's Word. After noting their needs, and promising to supply them from the articles sent us by generous Northern friends, we go on to the next house.

We find the same sad state of affairs; fever-worn men and women, wasted children, and starvation and want staring them in the face. But we find also the same great change. God's Spirit has been working among them, and hearts are softened and lives changed by His power. So we go from hut to hut, until the way becomes too steep to ride, and we leave our horses and climb, on foot, the lofty, rocky ridges.

We find men who were reckless and bad ready to listen to God's Word, and in broken voices asking for prayers. We find women who have lived lives of open shame penitent and contrite, showing by their abandonment of their evil ways that they are sincere when they say, oh so earnestly, "We uns air tryin' ter do right."

But all is not so encouraging. We must visit homes where vice reigns supreme; where women are lost to shame, and glory in their sin; where even the children have the "trail of the serpent" upon their young faces; where the men are brutal and beastly, and even sickness does not touch them.

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Let us call at this old log house as we pass; nestled under a high cliff, with the creek flowing past, it looks like some ugly blot on the "face of nature." But it is a school-house. There is no window, no chimney, only a hole in the side of the house, opening into a sort of pen of rocks, in which the fire is built; an admirable arrangement to send all the heat out of doors, and the smoke into the house. Several rough benches (that do not invite to ease or comfort) and an ancient chair complete the furniture of the room. Several boards painted black form the "blackboards." Here we find two tattered urchins and three tiny girls, whose faces have evidently not made the acquaintance of soap and water for some days.

The teacher is one of the advanced pupils of our academy—a bright young man, who will attend our school when his is completed. We ask where the rest of the scholars are.

"Pulling fodder or stripping cane," is the reply. And the children have to work so much in the fields that they seldom have the chance of attending school. Out of fifty or sixty scholars only a very few ever attend these public schools. But it is growing late, and we have a long, rough way before us, so we spur on toward home, reaching it just as the glow of the sunset dies away from the last distant peak and the dusky twilight settles down over the whole land.

A hurried supper and then to the church prayer meeting. Here are gathered quite a number, and we have a very good meeting, feeling the presence of our Saviour in our midst. So closes one of our days, and wearied in body, but refreshed and strengthened in spirit, we go to rest.

SOUTHERN FIELD NOTES.