A MISSIONARY READING UNION. E are grateful to the writer of the following letter, the Rev. J. T. Kingsmill, Vice-Principal of St. Aidan's College, Birkenhead, and a local Hon. Sec. for the C.M.S., for the very valuable suggestion offered by him. He is quite right in saying that very few even of those who are really interested in missionary work, and warmly support it for the Master's sake, have any clear knowledge of the history, surroundings, trials and triumphs, of Foreign Missions. If they read the C.M. Intelligencer or Gleaner, they get glimpses of what is now going on; but a great part of it does not interest them deeply, because they do not know what went before. Mr. Kingsmill's plan is designed to remedy this. But he shall speak for himself: THE LITERATURE OF MISSIONS. DEAR MR. EDITOR,-I have often thought that the cause of Foreign Missions might be greatly helped forward, and at the same time much spiritual good done to the Church at home, by the systematic and consecutive study of missionary literature. At present many are dependent for information on the annual sermon or meeting in their immediate neighbourhood, or the occasional glancing over a report or periodical. There is no foundation whereon to set these loose stones and bricks of information, and consequently there is nothing but a confused heap of ideas in the mind, instead of a temple of missionary knowledge, with its centre court for India, its great side aisles for China and Africa, its porch for America; one transept for Palestine and Persia, and another for Japan and New Zealand, all adorned with statues of famous and devoted missionaries, and enriched with records of their lives and labours. I do not altogether blame readers and hearers for this lack of knowledge and order. Many of them would gladly read more and to better purpose if they knew how to set about it. I think the GLEANER might help in this matter, if the editor would kindly suggest from time to time suitable books. We have our Shakspeare Societies, our Ruskin Societies, our Browning Societies, pledged to the study of the works of these writers. There are also reading societies, the members of which are bound to read a certain number of hours in the week. Could we not also have a Missionary Reading Society which all renders of the GLEANER might join? I would suggest that three lists of twelve books each should be drawn up, adapted for senior readers (including clergymen, who need this information as much as any one), younger persons, and children; that one set should be mentioned in the GLEANER every three months, and so the "course," like a college course, would last three years. The list should be so selected as to carry the reader in the three years over all the principal mission fields, not excluding notices of other Societies than the C.M.S. Were this plan adopted, I am sure that our parochial and general missionary meetings would soon show more point, aim, and earnestness, the spiritual progress of all Church work would be quickened, and, what is a point of incalculable importance, a constant supply of attractive and profitable reading for Sundays would be provided, and hours would be devoted to it which are now wasted in idle and unprofitable conversation, or spent in secular reading. To illustrate my plan I shall give an example, taking India as the subject:Senior Readers Middle Readers ... Junior Readers ... The Trident, the Crescent, and the Cross. By the I have been recommending such a course of reading to Sunday-school teachers in this neighbourhood, and have been endeavouring to increase the circulation of the GLEANER amongst them. I have been trying to secure promises to take the GLEANER, and have secured about 200 readers. As in other book clubs, to save expense the one set of books could be ordered every three months for each Sunday-school by the Sunday-school teachers who wished to read them. J. T. K. Birkenhead, October, 1882. We do not think it is possible to carry out Mr. Kingsmill's plan exactly as he suggests, because the choice of books is a great difficulty. There are plenty of them, but they would not always fit in to the grades of readers proposed. Thus in the case of India, which he gives as an illustration, no book could be better than Mr. Vaughan's Trident, Crescent, and Cross as an introduction to Indian Missions; and for children the chapters in Far Off are of course admirable; but the Life of H. Martyn, although a book which every one should read, would not at all prepare its readers to understand current reports of missionary work. And as India would not come round again for a year or two, the purpose of the plan would not be attained. But we propose, every three months, as suggested, to take a subject, to recommend two or three books upon it for senior and junior readers, and also to name any others that may also be referred to if accessible. This will enable us to mention some old books which cannot now be purchased, but which are in many parochial and clerical libraries. We can also indicate particular volumes or numbers of the Intelligencer and Gleaner. We suggest, therefore, as a subject for January, February, and March, "Missions to Mohammedans in Palestine, Persia, Egypt, &c.," which are of such pre-eminent interest to us all just now. No one book for any grade of readers can be specially named; but the following are all valuable in their different ways:— Mission Life in Greece and Palestine. Memorials of Mary Baldwin. By Mrs. Pitman. (With an Appendix on Missions in Palestine generally.) The Daughters of Syria. Seeleys, 1874. Memorials of Bishop Bowen. Nisbet & Co., 1862. Far Off Part II. Asia. (For Children.) Hatchards. Notes on Mohammedanism. By Rev. T. P. Hughes. The Faith of Islam. By the Rev. E. Sell. Trübner & Co. Articles on Missions to Mohammedans, in the C.M. Intelligencer, Jan., 1876; Feb., March, Oct., 1877; Dec., 1881; Jan., 1882. Canon Tristram's Report on the Palestine Mission, C.M. Intelligencer, Sept., 1881. Articles on Persia and the Persia Mission, in the C.M. Intelligencer, Nov. and Dec., 1881, and Jan. and Feb., 1882. By the Rev. Dr. R. Bruce. Articles on Missionary Life in Palestine, in the C.M. Gleaner, Jan. to July, 1882. By Miss L. II. H. Tristram. Damascus and its People. By Mrs. Mackintosh. Seeleys, 1882. We earnestly pray that it may please God to bless this plan; to multiply the readers of missionary books and periodicals; and to deepen in many hearts a sense of responsibility to send the Gospel to those still lying in darkness and the shadow of death. MEN'S WORKING PARTIES. IR, I think every lady whose heart is in Mission work ought either to have a working party on its behalf, or to be a member of one; but the idea of a men's working party was new to me until last week, when I heard there was a very successful one at Worthing. I mentioned the subject on Sunday evening to my men's Bible-class, and they took it up immediately. I said to the blacksmith, "I fear your work must be done at home; what do you think you could do?" "Oh! I could make tools for the rest." I looked at a former soldier and said, "I daresay you used to work while you were in the army; what can you do?" "I can knit rugs, but I have no cloth now." "Oh," said the tailor, "I can give you some strips for that." I said to the baker, "We all know what you can do-you can bake a loaf of bread." "Oh yes, certainly I can do that." I believe all will try to do something. "Saviour, Thy dying love Thou gavest me, Nor should I aught withhold, my Lord, from Thee. DEAR SIR,-In case none of your subscribers have tried a Men's Working Party for the C.M.S., let me tell you how well the plan is prospering here. A lady who has a Bible-class of married men and lads proposed to them to meet her every Tuesday evening during the winter for two hours' work. They took to the idea at once, and threw all their hearts into it, and are quite as quick in learning as women are. The men knit, net, do wool-work-some are making a hearth-rug of snips of cloth begged from the tailors and friends, who turn out their drawers, and another is doing Macrama lace for a chimney-piece. The idea has been copied by a lady with a similar class in a Bucks village, and I trust this account may encourage other teachers to do the same. Worthing. M. A. B. [This is a happy idea. We trust it will be widely adopted.—ED.] EGYPTIAN WOMEN DRAWING WATER. "I am come into this world, that they which see not might see."-John ix. 39. "If any man thirst, let him come unto Me and drink."John vii. 37. GYPT is still in all our thoughts, as Englishmen; and Egypt should be much in our thoughts as Christians. We need not apologise, therefore, for again giving pictures of Egyptian life a prominent place in the GLEANER. We do so this month, and we shall do so again, with the express object of reminding our readers that the Church Missionary Society has, for reasons explained in former numbers, re-established its old Mission at Cairo, and has opened a Special Fund for the purpose, to which are invited thank-offerings for the rapid and complete success granted to the British arms in restoring peace to Egypt. Our pictures this month are surely most suggestive. "Egyptian women drawing water"do we not at once think of the woman of Samaria, and of what Jesus said to her? "Whosoever shall drink of this water shall thirst again; but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life." Do we not see at once that what Egypt wants is a stream nobler and more beneficent than the Nile -the river of life-the living water of Divine Grace? "Egypt: A Blind Beggar"do we not think of Bartimeus and the other blind beggars of the Gospel ?-remembering that Jesus gave them sight by a word or a touch, not merely that their bodily eyes might see, but that they might be types and figures of the spiritual sight He gives to the blind in heart and understanding. "To open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light"-that was St. Paul's commission when he was sent to the Gentiles, and that is what we pray the Great Healer to do in Egypt by the instrumentality of our mission OVER THE WATER. BY EVELYN R. GARRATT, Author of " Free to Serve," "Lottie's Silver Burden," "Mother's Nell," &c. CHAPTER I.-AN UNCOMFORTABLE QUESTION. F only I had something definite to do, I believe I should be much happier," thought Sasie Ogilvie, as she stood leaning her elbows on the stile before crossing it into the peaceful little churchyard of Inglesby. Her eyes were fixed absently on the woods beyond, forming as they did a pretty background to the grey church tower. The birds were twittering in the trees close by, and the sunlight "lay sleeping" on the many green graves and white tombstones. It was a lovely peaceful scene, but the face of the young girl, who was looking absently at its beauty, did not correspond with it in calmness. Sasie Ogilvie was small and slight, but the picture of strong, healthy girlhood. The light wavy hair, which however much she brushed it would not keep smooth or tidy, formed a pretty contrast to her dark eyes; but the face wore neither a very happy nor peaceful expression this summer afternoon, and dissatisfaction was plainly written there. The scene before her was very lovely, but Sasie was not thinking of its beauty. Those green graves and white tombstones had set her thinking. "Twenty-one, and yet I've done nothing," she said within herself, as she wondered how long it would be before she should be lying side by side with her mother, who was buried in the family vault only a few steps beyond. "My life has been of no good to any one as yet, and I don't see a chance of it ever being any different, though I know Nona would scold me for saying this. I believe she is right after all, and if only I had something definite to do I should be much happier." Now if any one had told Sasie's friends that she sometimes felt sad and dissatisfied and unhappy, they would not have believed it. They would have said, "Sasie unhappy! Nonsense; she could not be anything but merry and full of fun. If she were otherwise she would not be Sasie." And certainly it was a very unusual thing to catch her dreaming, with that sad expression in her eyes and on her face. The love of life and all its pleasures was very strong in her, and she liked to get as much merriment and fun out of it as possible. But notwithstanding, even in the midst of her merriment, sad thoughts and longings would cross her mind, unknown to any save One, Who can read all hearts. It was the same old story-a great longing for something to do, and yet a disinclination to do the small duties of life, which lay close at hand. Something great and grand was what Sasie craved to do, but even if an opportunity had been afforded her of fulfilling her wish, I doubt if she would have had the energy and perseverance to take advantage of it. Quiet home duties Sasie felt to be utterly "against the grain.' sides," reasoned the girl to herself, "Netta is fond of those kind of things, so I can't see any harm in leaving them to her, and she does not care for pleasure as I do, so what would be the use of giving it up in order to relieve her of what she really likes?" "Be And yet these thoughts left an uncomfortable sensation behind as they crossed her mind. Supposing after all it was mere unselfishness on her sister's part that led her to appear as if housekeeping, entertaining visitors, and paying calls with her aunt, were a greater pleasure to her than tennis, reading, and boating, and going long country walks in search of flowers. But no. Feeling how utterly impossible it would be for her, in her present state, to practise such unselfishness in her life, Sasie could not believe it of her sister. It must be that Netta really enjoyed those duties, utterly unaccountable as the taste was to Sasie's mind. Sasie had been spending a thoroughly idle day, and having been reprimanded for it by her aunt she had lost her temper, and gone off for a walk by herself to cool down, intending to drop in to afternoon tea with a friend before returning home. But arrived at the stile she lingered; the sight of the green graves and white tombstones had the effect of cooling her ruffled temper and of setting her thinking, while the consciousness of wasting her life, and the longing for some definite work to do, arose again in the girl's heart. Sasie did not know how long she had stood by that stile. given to dreaming, and many an hour had been passed before now in that She was occupation. How long she would have stayed there I don't know, if she had not suddenly thought she heard a voice coming from a distant corner of the churchyard, which was hidden from her sight. Was it her fancy? No; there it was again. A man's voice, but trembling and weak. Holding her breath, Sasie distinctly heard spoken in a slow, solemn, but quavering voice, the words "Shall I offer unto the Lord my God of that which doth cost me nothing?' Aye, but dear Lord, Thou knowest my sin. I kept her. I would not give her to Thee-to Thy work. I only gave Thee that which cost me nothing-nothing." Sasie fancied she heard a sob end the words. Quietly she climbed the stile, and there sitting on a tombstone, his head bowed in his hands, was an old man. That he was a gentleman Sasie saw at once, even though his face was hidden; and that he was old-very old-was shown, not only by his bent figure and silvery hair, but by the weak and trembling tone of voice. Was he in trouble, poor old man ? Sasie made a movement towards him, but hesitated as again he broke the silence. The voice was weaker now and broken with sobs. Lord, my Lord, Thou knowest all things, Thou knowest I love Thee now; but I couldn't have loved Thee then, or I would have let her go. O Lord, have mercy on my sin." Sasie's bright eyes were filled with tears. She was a girl easily influenced, very impressible and impulsive, and the sight of this poor lonely old man touched her heart. In a minute she was by his side, and had laid her little white hand on his arm. The old man looked up suddenly with a start, and as his eyes fell on the girl beside him his hands and lips trembled. "I am afraid you are ill, and in trouble," said Sasie, sorry for the moment that she had disturbed him. My dear!" said the old man, raising his hand to his ear, "I'm deaf, and can't hear what you say. But I'll listen to you in a minute or two when I feel better, for the sight of you has unstrung me," and burying his face again in his hands he murmured, apparently quite unconscious that he was speaking aloud "So like her, good Lord, so like! Just the one for Thy work, and yet I would not give her to it. Just because it cost too much, Lord, too much." Then after a moment's pause he looked up at Sasie. "My dear, I'm a stranger in this place, and I don't know your name, or who you are. But I know one thing," he repeated solemnly, “that you are a bit of sunshine, come to me straight from my God." "What a dear queer old man," thought Sasie to herself, as a pleased colour spread over her face. "I should like to know your name, my child," continued the old man. "It does not happen to be Gracie, I suppose?" a sudden eager expression crossing his face, as he put his hand to his ear, and waited for the answer. "No, my name is not Grace," said Sasie, with a half pitiful smile. "I am Sara Ogilvie, but every one calls me Sasie." "Not her name, but her voice, Lord," murmured the old man, softly. Then, in a louder tone, "Sasie; that is a pretty name, my dear. Tender and sweet, as a young girl's name ought to be. It is a new name to me, quite a new name." Then suddenly his face became eager and animated again. "My child," he said, raising his voice in his earnestness, "tell me, do you care much about God's work among the heathen? Are you doing what you can for those who have heard nothing of our God? I hope you are. I think you are," with a touch of eagerness in his voice. It was with difficulty that Sasie controlled the smile that rose to her lips. This old gentleman need not have told her that he was a stranger to Inglesby, for had he lived there he would have known better than to have asked such a question of her. Of all things in the world, Sasie thought a missionary meeting the driest and slowest. She had been to one some years ago, and not having taken the trouble to listen to the speaker, the afternoon sun streaming full into her face, she was soon asleep, and, the meeting over, left saying that nothing should induce her to go to another. But here was this queer old man waiting for an answer, with that strange eager expression on his face. What could she say to him? She felt intuitively that her answer would disappoint him, but did not know how to avoid it. "I'm afraid I don't care for that kind of thing," said the girl, a faint flush spreading over her face. "I'm not very fond of meetings, you see, and so I don't know much about it." Sasie was unprepared for the effect her words produced. "O Lord," he said, dropping his head in his hands again, "this young girl doesn't care for those perishing souls, and she who did care for them, and loved them, and craved to help them, I would not spare, because it cost me too much-too much, Lord.” Sasie stood by looking at him wonderingly, feeling, it must be confessed, somewhat uncomfortable. She did not like the description this old gentleman had just given of her. "This young girl does not care for those perishing souls," he had said. How heartless it made her out to be. She never thought of them, that was why she did not care for them, she reasoned with herself; but what was the use of making herself miserable about the "perishing souls" of those she could not save? There were lots of sad things and sad people in the world, whom it would do no good for her to think about. Besides, Sasie sometimes felt rather uncomfortable about her own soul, so had not much time or inclination to think about the souls of others, and yet how wretchedly hard-hearted this old man had made her out to be. Sasie's lips were just beginning to pout with a sense of being misjudged, when the face, so old and worn with furrows, but refined and sweet to look upon, surmounted as it was by the white hair which is a crown of glory, looked up again with an almost piteous expression in the eyes. "My dear," he said, in an unsteady voice, "don't wait to serve the Lord, and to take an interest in His work till you have only the rags of your life to give Him-days which are not worth giving, feeble and weak as they are." Then raising his voice into a tone of solemn indignation, and fixing his eyes upon the girl's face, with such a stern expression in them that Sasie trembled, he added, "Will you indeed offer unto the Lord your God of that which doth cost you nothing, and wait for the days when you will say, 'I have no pleasure in them'?" But hardly had the words passed his lips before his face was again hidden in his hands, as with a sob he murmured, "Nay, but who am I, Lord, that I should reprove this poor child? 'Thou knowest my foolishness; and my sins are not hid from Thee.'" Sasie stood silent, not knowing what to think or say. She had seldom, if ever, been addressed in such a tone before, and she scarcely knew how to take it. She was not fond of being told her faults (as who indeed is ?), and if any one else had spoken to her in this way she would have angrily rebelled. But somehow she could not be angry with this weak trembling old man ; and he was so very queer too, he must be childish, she thought to herself. Besides, his tears and prayers had touched her, and she felt she could take from him what she could not have borne from another. "And," thought Sasie, "I am quite sure he is good. He speaks to God as if he knew He was close beside him, so he has a right to speak to one who is so far off God as I am." "My dear," he said, rising slowly from his seat, "I must be going home now, but I should like to see you again some day. I am Mr. North, and have taken rooms at Mrs. Caston's, the baker. Do you think you could come and see me?" "I don't quite know if I can," said Sasie slowly, for though she did not feel vexed or angry at what Mr. North had been saying to her, she did not exactly relish the idea of another tête-à-tête, and inwardly resolved that anyhow some weeks should pass before she would venture on another. A look of keen disappointment passed over Mr. North's face at her doubtful reply. "My dear," he said, in a tone of voice which made Sasie feel somewhat ashamed of her answer, "I'm a lonely old man, and should like to see you sometimes. I have pretty things in my room to show you," he added eagerly; "things from India and China, and different parts of the world, that you would like to see.” "Well-I'll come, Mr. North," said Sasie, hesitatingly, "if," she added with a blush, and a half mischievous look in her eyes, "if you don't scold me, and tell me again that I'm careless and selfish." 66 'Nay, my child, don't be afraid," said the old man, tenderly stroking the hand which Sasie had held out to him, "I won't scold you, pretty one, so I hope you'll come. I once had a little girl like you-so like you -and you remind me of her." "Then I'll come," said Sasie, and with a smile she tripped away, leaving old Mr. North shading his eyes with his hand as he watched her disappear. "God bless her," he murmured. "A little bit of sunshine sent by God into an old man's heart. She'll come and see me-she said she would. I must make the room pretty, or she won't be happy in it, and I'll ask Mrs. Caston to lend me her grey parrot, it will amuse the child-bless her!" (To be continued.) THE STORY OF THE NEW ZEALAND MISSION. By the Author of " England's Daybreak," "The Good News in Africa," &c. I. The Land and the People. HE Church Missionary Society has strange stories to tell of the scenery and the history of the different parts of the world where its missionaries have laboured; but both in the marvels of creation, and the wonderful facts of its story in the past, few can rival those that we meet with in studying the islands of New Zealand. As nearly as may be our Antipodes—that is, if a giant skewer could be run through the earth in England, it would come out the other end in New Zealand,-they are as like us in some points as they are unlike in others. The north, the middle, and the small southern isle, may be compared to our Great Britain, Ireland, and Isle of Wight; like us, they enjoy a temperate climate, and our plants and animals thrive there as if they were at home. But in others, they are exactly different to us. Our summer months, with their wealth of flowers and fruit, bring the depths of winter to them; our silent hours of midnight find them in the height of noonday activities; our snowy Christmas is to them the prime of the summer. The more northerly, the warmer it is, in their experience; the farther south, the colder. The British Isles were rich in species of native deer and oxen, in wild boars, and many other races of quadrupeds; New Zealand could not boast of one, until ships from foreign lands transported first some emigrant rats, and by degrees dogs, cats, sheep, and larger animals; and so extraordinary were these in the eyes of its human inhabitants, that they turned sick with terror on first beholding them. We must go back many centuries to find the time when grains of some sort or another were not known and used as food in England. In New Zealand, spite of the rich abundance of noble trees and lovely flowers with which it is adorned, there was no wholesome fruit or grain of any kind suitable for food to be met with of natural growth; nor even any eatable root, except that of a species of fern, which was roasted and beaten into a sort of cake most unpalatable to European appetites. But, with fish to be had at certain seasons of the year, it formed for ages the sole food of the inhabitants, with the horrid exception of human flesh, which was the staple of their choicest banquets. Potatoes, corn of all sorts, and the varied and delicious fruit-trees of our climate, were all unknown until brought to them from the other side of the globe. Yet we must not for a moment think of New Zealand scenery as barren of natural beauty. On the contrary, its landscapes are many of them eminently lovely. Its deeply-indented shores are clothed to the very edge with myrtles and fuchsias, violas and primulas of various kinds, shaded by the mighty branches of the pohutakama, whose stem resembles an English oak, but its rich tufts of blossom rival those of the scarlet geranium in brilliance and in colour. The largest of all the pine-trees grows there luxuriantly, often attaining a hundred feet before it throws out the clustering head of branches that tower far above the other lords of the forest. The graceful tree-fern grows to the height of thirty feet; the ratu, forty feet in circumference, is splendid |