affections and respect of the people. But 1848 was a time of storm and confusion, when even in the country men's minds were disturbed, and when outward circumstances might be supposed to take the place of everything else. He did not delay for that. In prayer, in preaching, in visiting, in example, he laboured for this end; and the end he has reached, is that Hermannsburg is now a Christian parish, the like of which is probably not to be found the world over. There is not a house in the village where there is not regular family worship morning and evening; there is no one absent from church unless by sickness. The population is small, and yet there are 11,000 communicants in the year; so that, with very rare exceptions, every adult must be a communicant, and every communicant be a frequent participator. The services in the week are as well attended as on the Lord's day. The labourers have prayer in the fields; instead of country ballads and we know in this country what they are the ploughboy or the weeding-girl is singing one of the grand old hymns; the people are like one Christian family, and their influence and conversation have already acted on the surrounding districts. Their houses are neater, drunkenness is unknown, so, it has been already mentioned, is poverty. They are found to be kind-hearted, with few quarrels, good farmers, and good peasants. Whatever formalism may grow up among them, and where there is so general a public opinion, the temptation to formalism is great, he is the first to detect and expose it; and a proof will occur presently that the change produced is a healthy one, founded on the personal change of the heart by the Spirit of God. It would be wrong to put these results forward as if they sprung from the mere pastoral work. It was a powerful agent, and so was the entire individuality of the pastor; but Mr. Harms would be the first to deny that they are his work, or that they could be the work of any but that Divine Worker who divideth to every man severally as He will; and if he traced them to one thing more than another, I believe it would be to call them an answer to prayer. While the people were rejoicing in their spiritual life, a mission to the heathen was suggested. It was a time of strong faith and self-sacrifice, and the suggestion was adopted. They would go out themselves as missionaries, wherever it might please God to show them the greatest need. This was in 1849. Twelve persons offered; a house was set apart for their residence and training, and a brother of Mr. Harms, also a clergyman, took charge of it. The course of instruction extended over four years, and embraced—Introduction to both Testaments, Exegesis, Dogmatics, History of the Church, History of Doctrines, History of Missions, Homiletics, and Catechetics,-a sufficiently formidable course, as will be admitted, to simple peasant men; and yet it included more, for there was a daily course of work through which they went. This was partly, as they were told, "for your bodily health, partly that you may, to some extent, earn your own bread, and partly that you may remain humble, and be no more ashamed of your work than Peter was of his fishing, or Paul of his tent-making.' And as for the spirit in which they were to study, | a sentence from Harms' address is very clear : "Be diligent; but also remember Luther's saying, Well-prayed is more than half-learnt. Therefore pray diligently. I do not mean your common prayer alone, but pray diligently in your own room, daily, daily for the Holy Spirit." Men who came forward out of living faith, and were met by a spirit so devout and practical as this, were likely to be good missionaries. There was one point to be settled further, and that was their destination. The east coast of Africa was fixed on, and then the tribes of the Gallas, lying north-west of the Zanzibar. The choice seems to have been more enthusiastic than prudent. These Gallas were only known as the terror of the whole east coast; a strong, hardy, savage race, of whom one of themselves said, "We Gallas are men, it is true, but we are not human ;" they were robbers and murderers by profession; they were difficult of access; a missionary with them was completely isolated; but no one had ever tried them before, and this somewhat Quixotic reason out-weighed everything. At all events the point was a test of Christian devotedness; and it is not unreasonable to suppose that we have few parishes where twelve men would have come forward under the circumstances. And here, before following out the story, let us give a distinct impression of the circumstances. A poor country clergyman, in a remote district, with a congregation almost entirely composed of peasants, proposes that as a congregation it shall send out missionaries to the heathen. The missionaries, as is natural, must be of their own body, peasants like the rest. As many as twelve came forward, and the clergyman, in the name of the congregation, and without any means, accepts the entire burden of training, sending, and supporting these men. Has anything like that been seen since the days when the Church of Antioch sent out her Barnabas and Saul? A year or two had slipped past in preparation, and in regular parish work, when some young sailors of the German fleet sought admission to the Hermannsburg emigration. They were recent converts, and in their zeal proposed to found a colony near Boney, in western Africa, and by Christian influences assist in putting down the slave-trade. Christian missionaries could superintend them, but what society would furnish these? They sought for guidance in this matter, and were directed to Harms by the Young Men's Society of Bremen, and laid their plans before him. They declared it was all one on which coast they settled; and that they were ready, as he wished, to stay for some months under his eye. An entirely new element was thus introduced, and has since determined the character of the mission-colonization. Peasants who had no missionary gifts, pleaded to be taken out as settlers. Out of sixty who offered, eight were chosen; the sailors settled down to their work, and the scheme at once assumed a magnitude that had not been contemplated. However, these sailors gradually melted away under the tediousness of the work, and the length of the probation, until only two were left. This was a discouraging beginning, and was met with a manly quiet and faith. "Without these sailors," wrote Harms, "we would never have been colonists; for we hon- show. The very heath was stripped for besoms. Nor did a Christmas tree fail, but one was carefully planted in a huge tub to be in readiness against crossing the line. Then the mission pupils had to pass their examination before being ordained by the Consistory. There were only eight now, for two had died, and two had proved unworthy-a scandal which has never been reproduced; those that were left passed with credit and compliments from the dignified Board of Examiners. The colonists had to be got ready. They all knew something of agriculture, but by more definite profession they were, two smiths, a tailor, a butcher, a dyer, and three labourers. The captain was chosen and the crew. The cargo was on board; and at last the leaving-time came. A service was held in the church; people poured in from the neighbourhood, and thronged outside; the young Harms preached a farewell sermon, and then the sixteen stood up together and sang as their parting hymn, Eine feste Burg ist unser Gott. Leave-taking, like everything else in Hermannsburg, is peculiar. But it was a pious thought to part with such a song. There is no music so arousing and sublime as that masterpiece of Luther, sung with the proper four parts, and at firm marching step; it is a very hero-psalm; and there is something noble in those humble men setting their faces towards the savages in Africa, and flinging back their lofty music out of brave composed hearts. The next day they went to Hamburg, and, on the 28th October 1853, the anchor was lifted, and the "Candace" floated down to Cuxhaven. At One or two things must not be omitted, and the less as they belong to every embarkation alike. There is the pretty sight of the long train of waggons winding through the pleasant street of Hermannsburg in the early morning, and bearing off all the good things the good people have packed up, while the villagers keep pace for a little over the heath singing their favourite hymns. Hamburg there is the service on board, a novelty that took the irreligious folk of that city by surprise when they first marked the line of country Arrangements were at once made for the build-folk filing through their streets and making for ing of a brig at Harburg; it was well and quickly done, and there was only one mishap, which in the end proved harmless-it cost more than 2000 crowns above the estimate. With a landsman's ignorance Harms had not recognised the difference between copper-fastened and copper-sheathed until the little item in the bill brought it prominently before him. But all passed off well; and one bright autumn day a special train carried the clergyman and some hundreds of his parishioners to Harburg, where they found that the shipping was dressed with flags in honour of the new vessel; and having held a simple service on board, they dedicated the "Candace" to its work of carrying the gospel to the Ethiopians. At Hermannsburg there was a ceaseless industry. Smiths, tailors, carpenters, shoemakers, coopers, were preparing for their ship. A water-butt or a suit of clothes were not to be had at any price. The women and girls knitted with a rapidity that was awful to look upon. The farmers came in with loads of buck-wheat and rye. The orchards were stripped. Pigs and hens accumulated to the proportions of an agricultural the harbour, and the pastor at their head. The every evening for the forgiveness of sins, for there is not a day without sin, and where there is no forgiveness there is no blessing. Begin all your work with prayer; and when the storm-wind rises, pray; and when the billows rave round the ship, pray; and when sin comes, pray; and when the devil tempts you, pray. So long as you pray, it will go well with you, body and soul." Through the voyage regular services are maintained, twice upon the Lord's Day, and these though the captain and crew should be alone. There is also a weekly service, and every morning and evening they meet together for a simpler form as the members of one household. The children are taught, and the school is opened before they have left the river; study is diligently continued; the tradesmen ply their crafts; and the inner life of that trim brig, the " Candace," is so pleasant to look upon that I cannot forbear quoting from a letter written on a later voyage. The writer had been a soldier, and is now a preacher to the heathen ; and one day shortly before Christmas he sought a quiet spot where he might con over his Christmas sermon. But "in the forepart the sailors and some of the brethren were working at their clothes, the carpenter was hammering at his boards, and the cook was fussing through the cuddy. In one of the boats sat Prytz, with the children about him, and gave them lessons in counting. Some brethren were reading and others busy at their sermons. Between the boats and the cabin the women sat with their knitting and sewing, some of the men with books, others smoking their pipes. The cabin-boys were busy in the cabin; but I thought there will be a free place about the stern. Alas! on one side sat the tailor, winking at the sea with both his arms, and on the other, Schulenburg was teaching the elder children English. At last I went up on the cabin roof and leant against the railing, but I was hardly there till the mate sat down beside me, and began a conversation. It was hopeless, so I sought out some work like the rest, and put the sermon off to a better opportunity." Then came Christmas. The fir-tree proved a failure, and had to be thrown out. But they made up a substitute; one had waxlights, another apples, nuts, gingerbread, toys, Bible pictures, presents; everything had been provided and put away in special chests marked for Weihnacht. They had their singing and great blowing of trumpets out over the Atlantic, and kept the first day and the second as faithfully as if they had been at home. Then at last after eighty days they reached Cape Town, and presently sailed round to Natal, and went in search of their long looked-for Gallas. They had been well furnished with paper. The Hanoverian minister in London had procured them letters from the Duke of Newcastle. The Church Missionary Society furnished them with a warm introduction to Krapf, in Rabba Mopia, and Major Hamerton, in Zanzibar. They carried letters with them from Dr. Barth of the Calwe Mission. They had their church constitution clearly written out. And there we may leave them for the present, coasting up the strange sea beyond Madagascar. HOW I BECAME A GOVERNESS. IN FOUR CHAPTERS. CHAP. I. My father was a clergyman, and held a small living in the south of England. My mother died a few days after I was born, and my father sent me to a neighbouring farm-house to be nursed by the shepherd's wife, who had just lost her own baby. Under her care I passed the first five years of my life, spending the greater part of every day in the open air, to which I ascribe my non-liability to catch cold. My nurse's children, Betsy, Robin, and Madge, were my constant playmates, and a forest near at hand afforded us inexhaustible delight. There we gathered the earliest spring flowers, daffodils, primroses, blue-bells, and sweet violets. Then came wild strawberries with their bright white blossoms, honeysuckle, and clusters of dog-roses, followed by blackberries, whortleberries, and nuts. When the autumn leaves strewed the ground we were never tired of watching the gambols of multitudes of little brown squirrels high up among the branches of the trees; and during the winter months we ran about in search of fir-cones and chips left by the woodcutters, or made snow-balls, with which we pelted one another. Once a week my father used to come to see me. When my understanding began to unfold, he supplied my nurse with simple little prayers and hymns, which she taught her own children and me to repeat every morning and evening. My only sister, Lucy, who was several years older than myself, frequently accompanied my father in those visits. Sometimes she brought in her hand a small covered basket filled with gingerbread nuts and other dainties, which she would invite us, little ones, to partake of in some sheltered nook, while she told us charming stories. And so the days of my infancy passed away. On my sixth birth-day I was brought to live at home. Guided by the wishes of my dear father, and aided by the experience of our faithful old servant, Anna, Lucy managed so lovingly and skilfully, that she never allowed me to feel the want of a mother's tender care. Having been herself brought up at an excellent school, she was well able to instruct me in all she knew. The place that Lucy chose for my first lessons was a mossy bank where speedwell, buttercups, and cowslips grew, near a sparkling fountain, and shaded by the leafy branches of a large lime tree at the bottom of the garden. As soon as I knew the forms of great A and little a, Lucy marked those two letters with a sharp pointed stick in deep furrows on a flower-bed. She then gave me a little bag of mustard seed which I helped her to sow in the furrows she had just made. That afternoon we went into the village to buy a small watering-pot; Lucy thought it would give me so much pleasure to water our seeds at sunset. On the third day we had the delight of seeing our two letters traced distinctly in tender green leaves. I was so enchanted that I ran off to the study window, calling out "Papa! papa! come and see our pretty letters!" It would have been difficult to say which of us three, my father, Lucy, or my. It over me. I looked up with tearful eyes into the clear blus sky, an uncontrollable feeling of sadness stole Like the poor captive, Mary Stuart, I envied the little white fleecy clouds, for I thought they were floating in the liquid air towards those I loved, while I must still remain far away. And then, as I reflected upon Lucy's unpretending, unselfish goodness, I felt a sharp pang of regret as if I had never loved her half enough. Trifling circumstances, of which I took no heed at the time, now, that I viewed them through the medium of absence, caused me the bitterest self-reproach. How careful should we be to show nothing but tender affection to those we are bound to love and cherish while we are yet with them! self were the most joyous on this occasion. was at once settled that if I could learn all the letters of the alphabet by the end of a month, we should drink tea together in the garden. Now, this tea-drinking out of doors was looked upon as a special treat. It had taken place but once since I came home, and that was to celebrate Lucy's sixteenth birthday. On that occasion I wore my new white frock and blue sash; Anna made a large hot cake; the village school children brought to Lucy a lovely nosegay of wild-flowers, and my father gave her a purple china vase to hold them. Before the month was ended I not only knew the alphabet, but Lucy had taught me to form several short words with some single letters she had cut out and pasted on little squares of cardboard for me. This pleased my father so much, that after I cannot say that I ever felt very happy at tea, as we sat together by the fountain, he made school. There were about thirty pupils in the me a present of a pretty story book, full of coloured house, of all ages, and of different stations in life. pictures, bound in crimson and gold. What child The parents of most of them were far richer than so happy as I when I carried my beautiful gift up my father, and one of the constant trials I had to to bed and fell asleep hugging it to my bosom ! endure arose from my inability to vie with them Lucy was in the habit of teaching a class of little in expensive clothing and other little indulgences. girls for an hour every morning in the village This feeling of mortification, though I knew all the school. During her absence I was allowed to time how wrong it was, prevented my meeting the amuse myself in the garden with my doll. My advances of my companions in an amiable spirit, father generally came out to enjoy a game of romps and caused me to keep aloof from intimacy with or a quiet walk with me. Sometimes we ran races some whose friendship would have been a source up and down the broad gravel walk, or played at of lasting comfort and enjoyment. The only perhide-and-seek amongst the laurels and guelder- son who really won upon my affection was a young roses. If the sun was very hot, then he would lead teacher called Florence. Truthfulness and humility me gently by the hand through cool shady walks shone through all her actions, and lent an irresistto watch the bees and the ants at work, or to ible charm to her demeanour and manners, besides count the buds and blossoms on some of his which, there was something in her mild tranquil favourite plants. By such simple means, and eyes that reminded me of my own Lucy at home. others of like nature, my dearest father knew how One day, it was a half-holiday, when my temper to interest and instruct my young mind. had been more than usually ruffled by the unBoth Lucy and I had the advantage of learn-pleasant remarks of a girl I especially disliked, ing French from a Parisian lady, Mademoiselle Lefèvre, who resided as governess in the family of our friends and neighbours, Doctor and Mrs. Fielding. My father was of opinion that every woman who had been properly educated should know how to keep accurate accounts, understand something of cookery, and be able to manage a household in an orderly and economical manner. He was persuaded, he often said, that more of the happiness and well-being of a family depended upon the competency of its mistress in such matters than was generally supposed. He had therefore directed Anna, who was a capital cook, to initiate Lucy into all the mysteries of her art, and from Lucy I acquired a tolerable knowledge of the best way of ordering and cooking a plain dinner. When I was almost seventeen years old, my father thought it would be good for me to spend a little time away from home, and amongst companions of my own age. He considered that Lucy took, as it were, too much care of me, and he feared that if I continued to lean so entirely upon her judgment, as almost to look upon her as my conscience-keeper, my own character would have no opportunity of being strengthened. He therefore sent me to a large school of which he had heard a very favourable account. It was a bright sunny morning when I left home, immediately after the Easter holidays. As Florence asked me to go out with her. She said it was her turn to make purchases in the town for the young ladies, and that, hoping to give me pleasure, she had obtained permission for me to accompany her. The cheerful bustle in the streets and shops revived my spirits and put to flight all my troubled thoughts, and I soon began to help Florence in her selection of ribbons, coloured beads, embossed note-paper, perfumed sealing wax, purse-silks, barley-sugar drops, and so on, as cheerfully as if all those things had been intended for my own use. On our way home, Florence invited me to spend the half-holiday with her whenever I pleased, either in reading and working together, or in taking a quiet walk by the river side. Hitherto the half-holiday had been odious to me as the most dismal day in the week. I generally spent it moping alone in a remote corner of the playground, and counting in my prayerbook the weeks and days I had to get through before the holidays at midsummer. From that hour the time flew by much more pleasantly, and thanks to Florence's judicious counsel, I learned to look upon everything and everybody, as it were, with new eyes. It is often said that on returning to a place, after even a short absence, we rarely find it precisely what it was when we left it. The season probably is different, balmy summer has given way to biting frosts, the fragrant fields and gay green woods have become scentless, cold, and withered. All things bright have suffered change. Poverty it may be has crept in, filling warm hearts with care and forethought; or increasing riches, that sore temptation, may have caused those very hearts to grow hard and selfish. Then again, sickness perhaps is doing its silent mysterious work; and what alters a household so completely as that! The sitting-room deserted, flowers left to wither, singing birds neglected, words spoken in whispers, anxiety on every brow. Can this be the abode we left behind us with so much regret? But the greatest change of all has been, I fancy, going on imperceptibly in our own selves. New scenes have awakened new ideas, companionship with books and persons hitherto unknown, has opened windows in our mind, and the fresh light shining in upon old trains of thought, tends to disturb the affinity between present and past self. And so it was when I returned to my father's house. I could hardly believe that I had not been absent whole years instead of so many months. Every object struck me as having become marvellously small. The garden, once my greatest delight, was in its richest summer dress, a profusion of beautiful flowers in full blow-the "green leaves quivering in the cooling wind," but now it seemed to be reduced to half its size, and overcrowded with vegetation. Still, if outward things wore an altered aspect, how consoling it was to feel that the hearts of my kind father, Lucy, Anna, and Dandy, our old Scotch terrier, knew no change, and that my affection for them had increased tenfold. On my return to school, after the midsummer holidays, I had the pleasure of looking forward to going home for good at Christmas. When that happy season drew near, I began to pack my trunk, thinking with delight of dear Lucy's being the one to unpack it with me at home. A letter with a black seal was put into my hands. Not being acquainted with the writing, I opened it rather carelessly, and was surprised to find that it was from Mrs. Fielding, to announce her intention of coming to see me for the purpose of communicating a very sad piece of intelligence. While I was yet reading it, she arrived. I saw from her countenance that something terrible had happened, but it never occurred to me that I could be concerned in it. She said she had come to take me home, and that we must set out without delay, to which I gladly assented. Soon after we started, she told me that on the previous day my father had driven Lucy in the pony carriage, to pay a visit to a sick friend at some distance. Coming home late in the evening, they had to pass through an archway below the railroad, and a train happened just at that moment to rush over their heads: the noise, combined with the darkness, frightened the pony, and with one plunge he dashed off and upset the little carriage over a steep bank. The pony made his way home, and Anna, knowing the road her master had taken, set off immediately, taking with her two or three workmen, to look for him. They found poor Lucy quite insensible, and my father suffering dreadfully from internal injuries. Dr. Fielding was soon on the spot. His experienced medical eye saw at a glance what had happened. All he could do was to assist in removing his two friends to their home, and to send a message to his wife to tell her to fetch me as quickly as possible. Mrs. Fielding, by her husband's desire, took me to her own house, instead of going direct to the parsonage. On our arrival, she found a note from him, saying that we were to go no farther till he joined us. It never struck me that there was anything alarming in all this, nor, when Dr. Fielding came in looking unusually serious, had I any presentiment of the sad truth. He told me that Lucy had never recovered her consciousness, the fall having brought on concussion of the brain. I began to ask how soon could she be well, but the only answer I received was an affectionate embrace from Mrs. Fielding, who bathed my face with her tears. I then begged to be taken to my father to console him. After a silence of some minutes, Dr. Fielding sat down by my side, took both my hands in his, and said in a very low voice, "My dear young friend, it has pleased the Almighty to send you the greatest trial you have yet been called upon to endure. The internal injuries your poor father received were of so fearful a nature, that I thanked God when death came to put an end to his sufferings, about half an hour ago. I was not his only medical attendant, and you may believe us, when we tell you that human aid could do absolutely nothing to relieve him. It will afford you consolation, by and bye, to know that the last words of your dear father were, 'Not my will, but Thine be done."" I was literally stunned, not a tear came to my relief. Mrs. Fielding, with motherlike thoughtfulness, wished to rouse me by proposing to accompany me to the funeral, the two funerals! I allowed my mourning dress to be prepared, but before the appointed day arrived, I was confined to my bed with brain fever. For many, many long weeks after I began to recover, I could neither bear the light nor the slightest noise. When I was a little better, Mrs. Fielding invited me, in the most delicate manner possible, to spend the spring and summer with her. Though I knew quite well that I was homeless, I still had a vague sort of Lotion that I was to go back to our old abode. This delusion comforted me, but now Mrs. Fielding's invitation came suddenly to destroy it. I quite started, and when I tried to speak, my tears began to flow as if my very heart would break. As soon as I was strong enough to bear it, Dr. Fielding explained to me my exact position. The living held by my beloved father was already in the hands of his successor. Every thing belonging to us had been sold, with the exception of a few precious relics in Mrs. Fielding's keeping for me. After the payment of all just claims, there remained for my support not more than between two and three hundred pounds. As it was not possible to exist upon the interest of such a small sum, my kind friends said it would be necessary, by and bye, to think of some means of gaining a sufficiency, but that my first duty was to recruit my health. I cared little for the want of money. I did not know enough of its value for that, but I felt really grateful for the wisdom and courage of my true friends in enabling me to look at my altered circumstances straight in the face. |