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CHAPTER IX.-THE "SHADOW OF DEATH." ASIE took some time in making up her mind as to whether she was willing to give up her Sunday afternoons to teach the infant-class, about which Mr. Bennett had spoken.

In order to help her to come to some definite conclusion, she argued over the subject several times with Netta. "It must be such a tie," she said one Sunday as Netta stood for a moment by the fire, putting on her gloves, before venturing out into the cold. "Of course it is, but so is everything that you undertake to do regularly and conscientiously."

"I believe you really enjoy your class, Netta, and never wish to stay at home when the time comes."

Netta turned her eyes from the bright fire by which Sasie was kneeling, and looked out at the cold wintry sky with a smile.

66 On snowy and rainy days I must confess often to have looked somewhat longingly at the fire, and have sometimes felt utterly disinclined to turn out. But I would not give up my class for anything; you have no idea, Sasie, what an interest and pleasure it is. And I expect everything that is worth doing costs one a little trouble."

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Well, anyhow, I am glad I'm not in your shoes to-day," remarked Sasie, as she poked the fire into a pleasant blaze. "It would take a great deal to make me turn out on a day like this; and yet it is no use undertaking to do any work unless you mean to persevere in it through thick and thin. I should despise myself if I were to stay away from a class just because it was wet or cold."

"It is not much to do or to give up for such a Master," said Netta, thoughtfully. "I am ashamed to think that I ever feel disinclined to do His work."

"And yet how astonishingly difficult even small acts of self-denial are -at least they are to me," said Sasie. "Even being asked in the middle of one of Beethoven's sonatas to look for aunt's spectacles last night irritated me. In fact anything that is not exactly according to my taste at the moment I find a real effort to do."

I know how difficult it is myself."

"Well, if you do, you manage at all events to hide it; perhaps I shall find it easier by-and-by. But-—”

"Well ? "

"I was going to say that I don't believe I am good enough to undertake any special work, or have the right to think of doing it; it is not as if I were good or consistent in my home life."

"As for not being good, why none of us are, and the person who considered herself so would, I should think, be the last one fitted to teach. I think we teach because we have learnt something of the sinfulness of our own hearts, and something of the Love of God that cleanseth us from our sin, and alone can give us strength to resist it, and want others to know it too. The knowledge of sin in ourselves makes us long to tell others in Whom we have found help and forgiveness."

"But would it not be setting myself up as better than other people? It would be almost saying, 'I am better and wiser than you, and I feel myself fitted to teach you.'"

"No, Sasie, it is as much as saying, 'I am weak and sinful like you, and have found out how impossible it is to fight against sin and Satan in my own strength; but God, Who has helped me, will help you.'” "I see; but, unfortunately, the world in general does not look at it in that light."

"I don't think that matters, so long as God sees our motives and approves of them.”

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But then, Netta, as I said before, I am not consistent in my home life, and it seems so hypocritical to preach what you do not practise." Yes, but you will not lead your class to think you are perfect. I think it helps them to know that you have the same temptations as they have, and that you are fighting in the same battle side by side with them, instead of merely standing by and looking on. And I expect you will find that teaching will help you to live a more consistent life. The thought of my Sunday-class has often helped me to resist sin. Mrs. Lancaster would be pleased to think of you teaching, Sasie," added Netta after a pause.

"Oh, don't talk of Nona," said Sasie, giving the fire a vigorous poke; "I want to get the thought of her out of my head, so that I may teach from a right motive, and for God alone. But," added Sasie, with a sigh, "it seems as if it would be such a dreadful responsibility, and, as you know, I can't bear responsibility of any kind."

"Yes, the thought of that weighs upon me sometimes very heavily. But then you know, Sasie, the mere fact of living is a responsibility, and whether we care to look it in the face or not, we cannot get rid of the fact. I think we often forget this; we turn away from work which God would have us do, because we dread the responsibility of undertaking it, when probably the responsibility is increased tenfold by refusing it. I think what we need to remember is that we are not working alone, but that the Lord Jesus shares the care with us."

"I don't believe that I ever realised till this moment that life itself is a responsibility," said Sasie, thoughtfully. "It seems to me that I have

been living in a dream all these twenty-one years." "It was just the same with me," said Netta. "I had imagined the world to be a kiud of fairyland, where we might spend our days in as much pleasure as we could manage to secure, and I fancied that every one lived as happily and comfortably as I did myself in our dear little village. I awoke to find it was anything but the fairyland I had imagined, and that all around there were people hungering for human sympathy, while I had been too engrossed in my own dreams to think of them." "Netta," said Sasie, after a pause, "I am rather ashamed of saying it, for I know how utterly selfish it is, but I almost dread to find my fairyland vanishing, and would much rather shut my eyes to all that is sad and sinful. Now I know that people who try to do a little good in the world see and hear things that I would rather not know or think of."

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Yes, you cannot go about the world blindfold, any more than a doctor can go through the wards of a hospital without seeing the suffering of the patients. Those who want to do God's work must, I think, be prepared for that, and willing to suffer. What would have become of the sick in body and soul in our Lord's time if He had refused to attend to their cry for healing, because of their pain and misery making Him sad? And yet being holy, what agony He must have endured at the sight of them! But I must be going, or I shall be late."

That afternoon Sasie came to a decision, and determined to see Mr. Bennett the following day to tell him that she would gladly take the class of infants he had spoken of. And from that day Sasie became willing to let her day-dreams vanish, and prayed that God would give her the love and sympathy with others, that would enable her, at whatever cost, to "Stretch out a loving hand

To wrestlers with the troubled sea."

Sasie learnt afterwards that the joy of helping one such wrestler was worth all her happy day-dreams put together.

She felt far happier when she had come to the above decision, and after seeing the rector, made her way to Mr. North at a brisk pace.

On entering the baker's shop she saw at a glance that something had gone wrong. Two or three neighbours, with Mrs. Caston, were standing round Jessie, who was sobbing with her apron up to her eyes.

"Is any one hurt, or ill?" asked Sasie, anxiously.

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'Why yes, miss; I'm sorry to say that Miss Venning has had a dreadful accident. Thrown out of the carriage, Jessie tells me, and taken up for dead."

"Dead!" exclaimed Sasie, turning pale.

"Speak up, Jessie, and tell Miss Ogilvie about it. She saw it happen you see, miss, and it has unnerved her. We could hardly get a word out of her at first, she was all of a tremble, that she was. But you look bad yourself, miss; take a chair, won't you?"

Sasie, to whom the shock had been great, was only too thankful to avail herself of the offer.

"Tell me which Miss Venning it is ?" she asked of Jessie, whose sobs were growing less.

"Miss Ella, miss. I was in High Street when I saw Dr. Venning's phaeton coming down the hill and Miss Ella in it, looking as pale as death. The horse looked just mad, and as it passed the chemist's the wheel caught in a lamp-post and Miss Venning was thrown out."

Sasie covered her eyes with her hand and inwardly groaned. The

thought of Ella Venning being called away to meet her God so suddenly without the slightest preparation was an awful one.

"And they say she was picked up for dead," added Jessie with a sob. "I must go down at once to the house to hear if it is all really true," said Sasie, rising quickly as a faint hope crossed her mind that the report was exaggerated.

The door was opened by the young housemaid, who looked scared and Fale. "Come in, miss. Oh, yes, it's all true. It's been an awful accident, and Miss Ella is lying between life and death."

"Still alive? Thank God," murmured Sasie. "How did it happen ? " "Miss Venning drove with the master this morning to Little Oaks, and as they were coming home he went in for a moment to see old Mr. Minton, who is taken bad again. And Jacobs the butcher boy, who saw it all, says that one of them steam-roller things was coming slowly up the lane behind. They did not see that master's carriage was so near, or that the noise was exciting the horse, but he got restive, and though Miss Ella tried to hold him in, off it bolted all the way home, and Miss Ella was thrown out just across the road. Poor dear mistress seems as if it had downright stunned her."

The servant said truly; Mrs. Venning not only looked stunned, but felt it, and no one knew what she suffered during the next few days while her pretty Ella lay between life and death. She wandered up and down the house with pale lips, and with a look almost of agony in her eyes, for her child's broken sentences, which reached her distinctly in the little dressingroom which opened out of Ella's bedroom, almost broke her heart.

Mrs. Venning was more often in the dressing-room than with Ella, for in her times of consciousness the girl seemed to cling to her sister rather than to her mother.

"Wasted, wasted," she would hear her murmur. "Oh, Bea, if I die, mind you live; don't have the agony of a wasted life to think of. How can I meet God ?"

Beatrice, hoping to comfort her, reminded her of her Sunday-school class. "You were much better than I," she said with a sob, "for you yielded at once to mother's wish about it, while I rebelled, and the Bible says, 'God is not unrighteous that He will forget your work, and labour that proceedeth of love." "

"Ah! but that is just it. There was no love in the work; I simply undertook it to avoid an argument on the subject, and I imagined all the while that I was very good and unselfish. I ought never to have undertaken the work. Mother should not have asked me; I wasn't fit." "Dear Ella, don't talk like that."


"Oh, but I must. When one is near eternity everything looks so different. I see now what a hypocrite I have been. I wish I had been told"Told what, dear?"

"Why, that of all things it is important to be true, and that God's work cannot be done by just any one. How could I teach when I had not learnt? But mother-oh, poor mother! she little knows what harm she has done me, and she must never know."

But she did know, for sitting in the dressing-room every word had reached her, and pierced her heart like an arrow. She saw now how she had begun at the wrong end-expecting the fruit before the plant had even taken root. She felt another word would break her heart, and so was rising to go when once more she heard Ella's restless voice.

"I think, Bea, we should have been taught to love before we were expected to work; but I don't remember mother ever telling us of God's love, only of our duty to Him."

Mrs. Venning covered her face in her hands and groaned. A moment's pause and the faint voice began again.

"What have I done with my life? I can think of nothing but hours spent in mere selfish pleasure. I have not been living, but dreaming. Oh, Bea dear, don't dream your life away too. Pray God to teach you to live and love."

The following day Beatrice wrote to Mr. Bennett, saying she intended to give up her class. "I feel," she wrote, "that I must learn myself before I can teach others."

WILD FLOWERS FOR C.M.S.-At a recent meeting for C.M.S. at Stanton Drew, near Bristol, a poor woman handed in 17s. 8d., the proceeds of one month's sale of wild flowers.

SOMETHING ABOUT KRISHNAGAR. RISHNAGAR is a town and district in Bengal, sixty miles north of Calcutta. There are two remark. able places in the district: Plassey, where Clive won the famous battle from which dates the British supremacy in India, on June 23rd, 1757; and Nuddea, an old seat of Hindu learning, sometimes called the Oxford of Bengal. But its missionary history is more interesting to the readers of the GLEANER. The C.M.S. planted a Mission there in 1831, and, two years after, thirty persons were baptized. Although they were much persecuted, many others joined them; and in 1838 the benevolence of Christian people to the sufferers from a famine led to an extensive movement in favour of Christianity. Some 3,000 persons placed themselves under instruction, and when Bishop Daniel Wilson of Calcutta visited the district in 1839, no less than 900 converts were baptized on one occasion. But these people were mostly poor labourers, and with but little knowledge; and as that generation passed away it was followed by another consisting largely of people who had been baptized in infancy, and were only Christians in name, just like so many thousands in England. In after years many excellent missionaries laboured among them, such as the late Rev. C. H. Blumhardt, and the Rev. A. P. Neele (now of Liverpool); but there was little true spiritual life to be seen. When the late Rev. J. Vaughan took charge in 1877 he found much to sadden him, but he threw himself into the work of revival with prayerful energy, and God blessed his efforts. The Christian community, which numbers 6,128 souls, has distinctly improved in the last three or four years.

Among other difficulties in Mr. Vaughan's path was a sudden aggression by a Roman Catholic Mission, whose agents, instead of going to the heathen, tried to draw away the Christians. Romish chapels and schools sprang up as if by magic close to those of the C.M.S.; little brass crucifixes were distributed widely among the Christian women to wear as charms, and one of the priests openly said, "In six months not a vestige of the Protestant Mission will remain." Another, being asked by a Native why he did not seek the perishing heathen, replied, "Because we think they may possibly be saved by the light of reason; but we are sure that you Protestants must perish soon, so we try and save you." Their success was alarming for a time, but the people they drew away soon found out their mistake, and have almost all come back again. This year the report is, "In several places the priests have shut up their schools, and withdrawn in despair."

Since Mr. Vaughan's lamented death, the Rev. A. Clifford has had the principal charge of Krishnagar; the Rev. H. Williams is an evangelistic missionary, and itinerates from village to village all through the cold season; and the Rev. J. W. Hall has the Training Institution for Native teachers.

Mr. Williams' itinerating work is very interesting and hopeful. The district specially allotted to him has an area of 627 square miles, and contains 620 villages, with a population of 335,000, which gives the very high figure of 534 souls per square mile. For five months last winter he was out in camp, preaching from village to village, and in that time visited 122 villages. Three months also, in the rainy season, he spent in travelling by boat. In the winter tour, Mrs. Williams accompanied her husband :She was able to do much for the women. It was her practice to go each evening, with a Bible-woman, into the village near the tent. An invitation to sit down at one of the houses was, with hardly an exception, quickly offered, and soon a large congregation of women assembled. Indeed, the difficulty she had was the great number of listeners. The women must bring their children with them, and such an audience is difficult to manage. She was much encouraged by their reception of the truth.

A mission to the women is as necessary as to the men. An anecdote will illustrate this. A boy in one of our schools was explaining the

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Parable of the Sower; I asked him to which of the four classes he belonged. His answer was, "We are the stony-ground hearers; because in the school we learn the truth, and believe it, but when we go home our mother, aunt, and sisters laugh at us, and taunt us for becoming Christians, so we quickly give it up."

The Mohammedans, who are three-fifths of the population in this part of Bengal, are showing a readiness to hear the Gospel; and we are thankful to say that it has pleased God to call out some converts from among them. Mr. Williams writes :

In November, 1881, a very respectable and fairly well-educated Mussulman came to us for baptism. He was well spoken of by Nasr-uddin, the man baptized by Mr. Vaughan three years ago, and who has nobly held his own while living all alone among his Mussulman relations. He had an intelligent knowledge of Christianity, and the points of difference between it and Mohammedanism, and was ready to go back to his own village without throwing himself upon the Mission for support. A fierce persecution ensued, and he yielded and fell. The Mussulmans throughout the district raised a shout of triumph. They confidently began to boast that there was

now no fear of any others coming forward for baptism.

But their triumph was shortlived. In July, two men, a woman, and a child were baptized. They are all relations of the man who had fallen away, and they had been witnesses of the sufferings he underwent. The most determined efforts were made to prevent their baptism. Two nights before it took place, the enraged Mussulmans set fire to the house of one of the candidates. The inmates were aroused in time to save the house. Two days after, in the presence of a large crowd of Mussulmans, the four were baptized. One of the men has not yet had his wife restored to him. They, with Nasr-uddin, now form a little church in the village of Tertulberia, and are commending the Gospel to their neighbours and relations by word and example.

Moslem bitterness is often encountered. The Rev. J. W. Hall relates an incident which illustrates both this and the meek spirit of some of the Christian agents :

Manick, who was acting as our dák (messenger) between Bollobpore and Tertulberia, had left us in the morning; but long


HE name of MOULE has been counted worthy of double honour in the annals of the Church Missionary Society. Two members of the missionary-hearted family of the late Rev. Henry Moule, Vicar of Fordington, Dorchester, are numbered among its missionaries. One of them, George Evans Moule, has been spared to labour in and for China through twenty-six years; the other, Arthur Evans Moule, through twenty-two years. Both are still in their original field, Mid China. One is now Bishop; the other is now Archdeacon. Of the other brothers one was Senior Dean of Trinity, Cambridge, and is now Principal of Ridley Hall; and another is Tutor of Corpus Christi.

Arthur Evans Moule was born in 1836. He and his brothers were educated at home. In 1856 he was for a short time at the

Malta Protestant College. From 1857 to 1859 he was at the C.M. College at Islington; and at Christmas, 1859, he was ordained by the Bishop of London (Tait). On April 22nd, 1861, he sailed for China.


Mr. Arthur Moule joined the Ningpo Mission in troublous times. The great Taiping rebellion was then at its head, and a large part of Mid China was in the hands of the insurgents. A few months after his arrival, the city of Ningpo itself fell, and the missionaries were more than once in imminent peril. Ultimately, however, by God's mercy, peace was restored; and through many years evangelistic work was assiduously carried on both within the walls and in the surrounding country, as described in Mr. Moule's own most interesting book, The Story of the ChehKiang Mission. Subsequently, from 1876 to 1879, he was at Hang-Chow; and it was during his period of service there that the remarkable work in Great Valley began, which has been several times noticed in the GLEANER in recent years. He has also taken an active share in the training of Native evangelists and teachers; and his Chinese lectures to them on the Thirty-nine Articles have been published. Both in Chinese and in English he has been prolific as a writer; and the GLEANER has frequently been privileged with his always bright contributions in both prose and verse.


ere he reached the Bhairub (a then swollen river, and consequently dangerous to cross) night came on, forcing him to seek shelter until dawn. Going to the house of a Mussulman he asked for a lodging (which, I may say, is never or seldom refused). The Mussulman, however, turned a deaf ear to his request, on the ground that his masters were up in Tertulberia making Christians of the people. "You are a low, mean lot, you Christians," said the man. "Ay," replied Manick, "I own we are a poor despised people.' When the man found that his thrust had not gone home, he said, "Nay, you are a great people." "True," replied Manick, "we are a great people; we are the sons of the living God;" and the angry Mussulman turned him out into the dark night.

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Mr. Williams, in addition to his evangelistic work, superintends the village schools of the Krishnagar District as best he can. "What," he asks, "would be thought at home if a mission preacher were to become, not only inspector, but sole manager, of forty-three schools, scattered over two counties, and numbering 2,177 scholars (500 girls and the rest boys)?" Nothing, surely, could better illustrate the burdens of our missionaries, and their need of sympathy and help.

On Mr. Arthur Moule's return to China last winter, after a period of rest at home which had been lengthened against his ardent wishes by the doubtful state of his health, he was appointed Archdeacon of Ningpo by his brother the Bishop. He is now at the great commercial port of Shanghai, where the work of the C.M.S. is on a small scale, but where the presence of so large and wealthy an English community makes it important that the Society should be well represented. He is not only missionary in charge there, but also Secretary of the whole Mission.

By the Author of "England's Daybreak," "The Good News in
Africa," &c.


| climate of New Zealand being remarkably favourable to European constitutions, the trial of broken health is one from which our missionary band labouring there has been wonderfully sheltered. For twenty-three years, from 1814 to 1837, their numbers were untouched by death; at that date Mrs. Davis, truly a mother in Israel, mother now of two missionaries' wives, as well as (spiritually) of many Maori converts, received the call to "go up higher," and her loss was keenly felt. But God was carrying on His own work, in some cases, independently of human aid. In one of his Sabbath visits to a place called Mawi, Mr. Davis was asked to go and see a poor sick man. Tupapa was an aged chief, and his locks were grey, his countenance was elaborately tattooed, but the eminently handsome features seemed already fixed in death. Alas! what could the missionary do, summoned thus only at the eleventh hour? He bent over the sufferer in deep sorrow of heart, and spoke to him of the Saviour, whose arm is mighty to save even at the solemn moment when life is ebbing away. The dying man tried to answer, but his pale blue lips refused to utter a single word; again he tried, making a stronger effort, and this time succeeded. Intelligence and joy beamed in the features which had seemed already stiffened in death, as raising his feeble arm, he let it fall upon his breast and exclaimed, "My mind is fixed on Christ as my Saviour." "How long have you been seeking Christ? " "Since I first heard of Him," he replied, "Christ is in my heart, and my soul is joyful." Mr. Davis urged him to keep fast hold of Christ, and to beware of the tempter. "I have no fear," he answered, "for Christ is with me." Mr. Davis read part of John xiv. to him, and prayed with him, after which Tupapa told him how he blessed God for sending His messengers to teach him what he must do to be saved, and that now he longed to depart. "Oh," he said, "I shall die to-day; this is the sacred day." The missionary could not adequately describe his own feelings. He thought he had come to witness the hopeless end of an ignorant savage; he found he was kneeling beside one of God's dear children, who was resting trustfully on His Almighty arm, even in the midst of the river of death.

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At Waimate the work was spreading with such rapidity, that Mr. Davis could speak of receiving there 90 inquirers on one day, and on another 161, and Mr. Clarke tells us that his house was "beset" with people actually before daybreak, earnestly inquiring what they must do to be saved. The same thing went on at Paihia. Their pastors seemed literally to be able to find time for nothing but conversation with inquirers, so numerous and so importunate were they. The natives, finding the missionary staff insufficient for their needs, in several places established schools of their own; and you might not unfrequently see a chief sitting under a tree and reading the Word of God, or observe a copy of the New Testament half hidden in his mat.

We must not, indeed, run away with the impression that all these presented satisfactory cases of heart-conversion, or that the work of God here was free from the hindrances and drawbacks which have always accompanied its progress. The case of Tohitapu was one which caused deep sorrow to his Christian friends. After being among the fiercest enemies of the missionaries at Paihia, he had become their steadfast friend, and laying aside his own love for war, had often acted the part of mediator between hostile antagonists. Mr. Williams' influence over him was unbounded. In the early days of the mission, Tohi-tapu had been terribly excited by the misconduct of one of his wives. He talked of killing himself, as one way of shortening his misery,

for he could not eat, and he was sure he should be starved; and reproached the missionaries with his sufferings, saying that had it not been for them all would now be well, for he should have killed and eaten a slave, and his heart would have been at ease! Mr. Williams soothed him, and after a while he retired, somewhat calmed. It was only for a time, however; the next morning he returned in still greater agitation, brandishing the hatchet he held in his hand, with which he observed he had already sent sixteen persons out of the world, and declaring he should otherwise die of hunger, protested that nothing could satisfy him but killing and eating some one. After pressing him in vain to partake of the breakfast, at which the family were then seated, Mr. Williams insisted on being heard, told him of the wickedness of his devices and purposes, and how the Evil One was seeking to obtain possession of him, till Tohi-tapu was fairly overcome. He threw the hatchet from him, promising it should never again be used for murderous purposes. He kept his word. He even went so far as to refuse an offer from the natives of Kororarika to make him their chief; though they offered him money and muskets, if he would but put himself at their head, he steadily declined all inducements which would have separated him from the missionaries. He replied to his Maori tempters that he cared not for muskets, and if they sent any he should make them into rafters for his house. Yet those watching anxiously for the turning of his soul to God could trace no signs of a real change within; and later on, falling under the influence of ungodly traders, he turned against the missionaries; they visited and pleaded earnestly with him in his last illness, but, alas! he died, as he had lived, a heathen.

The work at Whangaroa Bay, where the crew of the Boyd had been massacred and devoured, and the Wesleyan settlement burnt to ashes, had features of especial interest. Some lads from this place went to school at Keri-Keri, and three or four of the least promising amongst them grew restless after a while, and returned to their heathen friends and customs. But when, after a while, a converted Maori, named Porotene Ripi (whose own history is full of interest, did time and space allow of our going into it), visited these villages, pleading with the people to care for their own souls, the remembrance of former teaching seemed to revive with these boys, and they began to try and teach others. A general desire for instruction was awakened. A commodious chapel was erected amongst them by Tupe, one of the leading chieftains, and with a son of Hongi (his namesake, but a very different man to his father), he urged the missionaries to come and settle amongst them. His letter ran as follows: "Mr. Kemp, this is my saying to you, I am sick for you to be a father to me. I am very sick for a white man to preach to me. I will never cease contending with you. I am very good for you, Mr. Kemp, to be a father to me, and to Rewa-Rewa, and to Tupe. This is all my speech. By Hongi."

These entreaties could not be refused, and Mr. Shepherd took up his permanent abode at Whangaroa; he found that some of the chiefs had already been baptized, amongst whom Tupe took a prominent place as a "Christian indeed.'

Our readers are familiar with the honoured name of Mr. King, among the first missionaries to the island. He had moved his residence about two miles from Ranghi-houa, Ruatara's home, but continuing his labours for the entire district, saw the blessed work steadily growing and spreading among the people. Many of the young men he had baptized, constituting themselves evangelists, went out into the neighbouring heathen districts, to offer to others the good tidings which had filled their own hearts with rejoicing, and the chief, who had at one time been a bitter opponent, not only became a friend, but gave abundant evidence of having truly given his heart to God. A translation of some writing found in the fly-leaf of a book belonging to a Maori boy gives an interesting idea of the nature of the work going on in

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