It was always a genuine home of the most attractive type. What that means in a Christian land every reader can in a good degree understand; but where all around is a mass of strange people, saturated with ignorance, prejudice, and the debased morality consequent on idolatry, a people of strange and often repulsive habits of living, the contrast is, as the Chinese visitors often used to say, “the difference between heaven and hell.” But what most of all made this little dwelling at Tengchow a home in the truest sense was the love that sanctified it. Dr. Mateer used in his later years frequently to say: “In the thirty-five years of our married life, there never was a single jar.” Nor was this true because in this sphere the one ruled, and the other obeyed; the secret of it was that between husband and wife there was such complete harmony that each left the other supreme in his or her department. Here many visitors and guests received a welcome and an entertainment to which such as survive still revert with evidently delightful recollections. This seems to be preëminently true of some who were children at the time when they enjoyed the hospitalities of that home. Possibly some persons who have thought that they knew Dr. Mateer well, may be surprised at the revelation thus made. One of those who has told her experience is Miss Morrison, whose father was a missionary. He died at Peking, and subsequently his widow and their children removed to one of the southern stations of the Presbyterian Mission. It is of a visit to this new home at Tengchow that Miss Morrison writes. She says: Two of the best friends of our childhood were Dr. Calvin Mateer and his brother John. We spent two summers at Dr. Mateer’s home in Tengchow, seeking escape from the heat and malaria of our more southern region. It could not have been an altogether easy thing for two middle-aged people to take into their quiet home four youngsters of various ages; but Dr. and Mrs. Mateer made us very welcome, and if we disturbed their peace we never knew it. I remember Mrs. Mateer as one of the most sensible and dearest of women, and Dr. Mateer as always ready in any leisure moment for a frolic. We can still recall his long, gaunt figure, striding up and down the veranda, with my little sister perched upon his shoulders and holding on by the tips of his ears. She called him “the camel,” and I imagine that she felt during her rides very much the same sense of perilous delight that she would have experienced if seated on the hump of one of the tall, shaggy beasts that we had seen swinging along, bringing coal into Peking.