low, as brief as at the opening, and the service is concluded with free prayer "to the living, present Lord Jesus, not as sitting up in heaven, or hovering in the blue depths of the ether, but in our midst, and with whom we speak as a man with his friend." It is now half-past two, and for the next hour the people separate for dinner. The afternoon service follows; hymns are sung again, sometimes by the congregation, and then by the men, or the women, or the children-a mode of church music much cultivated among the Moravians. The inspector preaches, and reports upon the mission, so far as under his control; Harms comes after, with the report of the entire work for the year, and it is far on in the evening before the people separate. Even then many of the strangers crowd round the vicarage. Probably they are rewarded by a short service and address in Platt Deutsch, Harms standing before the door, and the audience, mostly from the neighbouring villages, clustered about him in the evening light. At nine, he has an open family worship, and before the stars are clear the village is hushed for another night. The next day is known by the march of the pilgrims. Some spot in the neighbourhood, a few miles distant, and in another parish, is selected; practical reasons, of course, guide the choice, but beauty of situation does not seem unconsidered. About nine, the people assemble in front of his house, the students blow a chorale, there is a prayer, and the procession sets off over the Heath; the aged and delicate in wagons, the rest on foot. This is a gay and pretty sight. It is holiday with every one, holiday dress and holiday talk. Little family groups wind over the Heath; its great silence is broken by the murmurs of a thousand voices; its level sombre shades are brightened by an endless variety of colour; it seems all in motion, for other groups are advancing from other directions to the place of rendezvous; and occasionally the pilgrims lift up a mighty psalm that goes echoing over the moor, and is caught up by the distant stragglers, and sent joyously back from band to band. Arrived at their destination, they settle themselves for the day. Turning down into a valley, they spread up the side, over the mingled meadow and heath, or climb the trees, while some rock below serves as pulpit, and the blue summer sky is roof sufficient; and the wide-spreading oaks, and wall of giant firs, cresting the ridge, throw a grateful shade. Nothing can be more picturesque than the grouping, or more cheerful than the universal feeling. And when the service is begun with the singing of so many thousand blended voices, it is no wonder to see aged eyes that fill with tears of joy. Twenty years ago no one could have prophesied that the population of a district would assemble at a missionary meeting. At that time the churches were closed against the mission; a hall might be hired in some town, but the few who did that were said by everybody to be out of their right mind; and if a meeting were held, those who came were followed through the street, and pointed at, as a nine-days' marvel, and if an association was established, it was happy to receive 200 crowns. And those who remember how recent that was, bless God, like Simeon, that they have been spared to see his salvation. When

Harms has preached, the clergyman of the parish bids the assembly welcome. Other addresses are made until one, and an hour is then left for picnicking, which proceeds with the same disregard of conventional rule, and the same intense satisfaction that belong to it elsewhere. Further addresses, and much singing of hymns and prayer succeed; extracts are read from recent letters of the missionaries; the story of the place where they sit is recalled from the past, and information is given of the various labours of mission societies. It is not till the summer twilight has stolen down that the pilgrims catch sight of the scattered houses and church spire of Hermannsburg. they enter, the bell rings for evening prayer. There is a sudden silence along the straggling line, broken only by the audible murmur of some more urgent petition. In a few minutes, the train moves again, and the divided households unite, each under its own roof, with thanksgiving to the Lord, "for He is good, for His mercy endureth for ever.

As

It is undoubtedly peculiar. There is the strenuous order of the church, but it is burst through at every moment by the freedom of the spiritual life. There is the stress on the liturgical form, and the fixing of hours of prayer, but without the slightest approach to formalism. Everything is characteristic of the man, and penetrated with his vitality and warmth. And if these two days are eagerly looked for, and if the interest of the mission centres itself much in them, is it not natural? Where can two days be better spent? And what better means can be used to deepen the value and blessing of missions in the minds of the people? What better sign of a missionary people than that such meetings have been created by their own wants, and are crowded for their own pleasure?

It only seven years since their first missionaries sailed for Africa; and in these seven years this is the fruit of their labours. There are 100 settlers spread over the Eastern provinces at eight stations; there are dwelling-houses and workshops at every station; there are about 40,000 acres of land; 50 heathens have been baptized; their influence reaches from the Zulus on the coast, to the Bechuanas in the centre, and from the Orange River to Lake Ngami. At home, they have the mission house and farm, with 45 persons living in them; the Refuge Farm, with 20 persons; they have their own ship, and print their own books; and they continue with one accord in breaking of bread and in prayer. This is no common success. It is wonderful. And what to some would explain the wonders, to most would seem more wonderful than all.

For the question must have started in your mind long since, Where did they get the money? A ship is costly, and a farm is not bought for nothing, and the daily maintenance of 200 people is no trifle, nor can buildings be put up at eight different settlements without expense, although it be among the Kaffirs. And yet this parish is a plain peasant parish, and Mr. Harms is only a clergyman's son, and his income is scanty enough. Beyond a doubt the mission costs something. The ship cost 15,000 crowns, and 4000 more to outfit it; and the passengers landed in Africa with 3000 crowns. The printing-press and house cost 3600

Where did he get these 118,000 crowns? Did he send begging letters? Did he go to Holland, or cross to England, or ask a subsidy from the State? He is a foe to beggars. He will not tolerate them in his parish; his doctrine is that no Christian dare be a beggar, nor ask from any but God. No one acts so rigorously on these principles as himself. His scruples are almost prohibitory. Beyond the barest outline of accounts, he excludes money matters and money difficulties from his paper; he will neither mention the sums that have been given (unless incidentally, as an illustration of some truth), nor the names of any who give; though the people are prepared with alms at the annual festival, he never speaks of his wants, nor asks a donation; when he is in urgent difficulty about money, he persists in silence. This may look singular and absurd. But is it not more singular that he has never found this course of conduct to mislead or disappoint him; that he has found his straightforward asking of God abundantly sufficient? When a man makes that discovery, who can blame him for using it?

He has one or two pretty certain sources of income. Each of the 11,000 annual communicants lays a gift on the communion-table, a the custom is. This is called the Beichtpfennig, and in most churches is so small a coin that it would be puzzling to reckon it in our money. Suppose that it were a groschen in Hermannsburg, that would raise 370 crowns; the Consistory grants him share of the regular missionary collection; that amounts to another 200. Among uncertain sources are the mission collections, which average from 2000 to 3000 crowns. But these added together do not make one-tenth part of the amount. The congregation is liberal. There are plain yeomen who have handed him 500 crowns. There are persons who have stripped themselves of all to give. But he has no control over these people. No one will be so bold as to assert that because a clergyman is full of missionary zeal, and has a happy way of inspiring the interest of others, that his people will give up all they have to his schemes. The reverse happens every day. If there are persons who give so largely in that particular community, it is but reasonable to say that it is God who moves their hearts to this liberality. If it is found that their

giving is in accurate proportion to a need of which they can have no precise information, it is not only more reverent and scriptural, but more rational, to say that they have been guided invisibly by God, than that they did it by chance, which is equivalent to confessing our inability to know how it was done. And if there has been a child of God praying all the while for this very blessing to his Father who seeth in secret, is it not rational to go back a step farther, and connect the giving with the prayer?

Before his own paper was established, Harms put a brief report of his proceedings in two of the country newspapers, The unlikelihood of that report reaching far is self-evident, but almost simultaneously contributions came from New Orleans, Antwerp, Amsterdam, Odessa, and Narva, Harms has no doubt how they came. God put it into men's hearts. This is a cardinal point of his faith. "It is wonderful when one has nothing, and 10,000 crowns are laid in his hand by the dear Lord. I know from whom it all comes. When I remarked to my brother that he was such a master in the art of taking, I thought within myself, let him take, thou wilt receive. And I went to my God, and prayed diligently to Him, and received what I needed." When the printing-shop was debated, there was no money to bear the expense. "I can assure you," says Harms, "that to the question, Shall we print? we did not answer, Certainly we can; but we cried to the Lord, Grant it to us. And He granted it, for we immediately received 2000 crowns, although the thought had not been made known to any one; we had only to take and be thankful." "A short time ago I had to pay a merchant, in behalf of the missions, 550 crowns, and when the day was near I had only 400. Then I prayed to the Lord Jesus that He would provide me with the deficiency. On the day before, three letters were brought, one from Schwerin with 20, one from Bücksburg with 25, and one from Berlin with 100 crowns. The donors were anonymous. On the evening of the same day, a labourer brought me ten crowns, so that I had not only enough, but five over." "I must tell you what brought the tears into my eyes, and confirmed me anew in that word, Before they call I will answer. A medicine chest was urgently wanted for the mission. I reckoned up to see if there was enough left to supply it. Before I had finished; and when I had not yet well begun to commend' this matter to the Lord, a letter was brought, in which the anonymous writer stated that for some time he had been collecting for the mission, and had determined to purchase a medicine chest. The chest accompanied the letter; he only begged it might soon be sent out for the heathen." When the Refuge was projected, the great obstacle was want of money. After prayer, a pious farmer met him and asked him to mention any way in which he could assist the work. "I took it as a sign from the Lord, and mentioned to him what was in my heart. He sent me, through his wife, who was of one mind with him, 500 crowns. Immediately after a merchant sent me ten, a pastor 100, and '| then came anonymously 100 crowns. Meanwhile I had not made my intention known." The year before," he wrote in 1858, "I needed for the mis

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sion 15,000 crowns, and the Lord gave me that and sixty over. This year I needed double, and the Lord has given me double and 140 over."

I have placed these extracts loosely together be cause they show with great clearness what Mr. Harms believes about his missions, and to what he -attributes its success. There is nothing he insists upon with greater earnestness than that, be the expenses what they may, let them increase ever so suddenly, he has never begged. There is nothing he has more delight in telling than that he has prayed for every want, or that without special prayer he has received in reply to his life of faith alone. The difficulties that lay in the way are conceivable enough. He has displayed remarkable firmness and wisdom in removing them. Are firmness and wisdom sufficient to account for it? have they helped others who possessed and used them to anything like the same results? His mission agency has flourished beyond all precedent. Does by band af al 9 d • ~ 362 77

it account for that to say that he has a remarkable personality; that he has the power of attracting people to his views, of drawing them in to work out his plans; that he has a congregation filled with the primitive zeal? Does not every one feel that these are no more than auxiliaries, that of themselves they are not explanatory? Are we not driven to one of two solutions, either that Mr. Harms is right, that God has guided him throughout, that it has been a continuous answer to prayer; or that he has been thoroughly deceived, that it is a series of curious coincidences which may at any time be broken, that the appearance of an order and law in it are delusive, that it has been only ten years of happy mistake? These conclusions may be left to the careful thought of those who interest themselves in the subject, for it is one which demands study, however clumsily it is presented in these papers. In the next chapter we shall see what befell the missions in Africa.

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THE time was Winter, Winter or the Spring That comes with tardy footstep, lingering Like some reluctant Giver, yielding cold, The boons that it no longer may withhold; And ere I slept, I listened to the rain

Dashed by the fitful wind against the pane,

RO.PATERSON S

The wind, that even through my sleep did seem
To break upon the music of my dream,
With pause of change and dreariness, and still
Swelled, sighed, and moaned each varying scene
to fill

With trouble and unrest; at length outworn

I slept within my sleep, and to the Morn
(Still in my dream) awoke, with vacant eye
Forth from the casement gazing listlessly,
When sudden I exclaimed, "A miracle !
A Summer come at once, without a Spring
To herald it! a bright awakening
To life and loveliness," for all around

Were leaves, green bursting leaves, and on the ground

Was short grass springing thick, and through the

wave

The dark flag cut its swift way like a glaive;
And broad as Orient growths, upon the pool,
Large, juicy leaves lay mantling, smooth and
cool:

I saw no flowers, no fruit, but everywhere
Leaves, only leaves, that filled the summer air
With murmurs, soft as whispers that the heart
Hath longed and listened for; while light and
low,

As chidings fall from lips that turn their flow
To gentleness, quick rustlings waved apart
The boughs, and fragrance soothed the sense like
thought

Too sweet for utterance; e'en then I caught
The Dream's full import: "'tis the Spring's warr

sigh
Methought, "that calls forth all this luxury
Of leaf and greenness; thus, upon the heart
A word, a look will bid a Summer start,
A Summer come at once, without a Spring
To herald it, a sudden wakening ;"
Then from the bands of sleep my spirit broke,
And with the sweetness on my soul I woke,
And it was Winter still! but in my heart
Was Summer! Summer that would not depart,
But breathed across its silence, low and light,
Like those sweet forest-rustlings of the night;
It was a dream of Hope! and sent by Her
My Lady bright, because I minister
Unto her honour, while I strive to sing
And praise her with my Lyre's most silver string;
It was a dream of Hope; I know the hue
Of her fresh mantle, and her symbol true,
The leaf she cannot give the flower or fruit,
But sends their promise by a herald mute;
The leaf, that comes like one in haste to bring
The first of all some gladsome welcoming,
And cannot speak for joy, but with the hand
Still points and beckons to the coming band;
I know the symbol, and I bind the sign
Upon my heart to make it doubly thine,
Thou Bringer of sweet dreams by day and night,
Still will I sing and praise Thee, Lady bright!
And I will gather of these leaves, to twine
A chaplet for those sunny brows of thine;
And by thy smiling Thou wilt keep its sheen,
In Winter as in Summer fresh and green!

HOW I BECAME A GOVERNESS.

CHAPTER II.

D. G.

Late in the evening of the ninth of October, Mrs. Fielding and I arrived in London, where we were to spend the night at her brother's house in the Regent's Park. A passport for me had been

already procured by a friend, who sent it to us a day or two before by post. Just as we were setting out, Dr. Fielding reminded me that he was always to be my man-of-business, and that I must be sure to write to whenever I found myself in any kind of difficulty. He said he had but one little word of advice to offer before we parted, which was, never to forget in a foreign land that I was an Englishwoman and a member of the Church of England, as he feared some of our country men and women were too apt to do particularly with regard to Sunday and amusements on Sunday. He then gave me his cordial blessing, and slipped a five-pound note into my glove, as a parting remembrance. The next morning, at five o'clock, we went down to the London Bridge station, where we were to meet my travelling companions. They were already there, looking out for us as every carriage drove up. There was no mistaking the foreign appearance of my new friends, so Mrs. Fielding addressed them without hesitation. Mademoiselle Lefèvre had arranged that we should recognise each other by my showing a card of hers, and Madame Dubois' producing a sealed-up card of Dr. Fielding's, which we sent to her for the purpose. The cards agreed upon were soon exchanged and we began to talk about railway tickets, luggage, porters, passports, and trains. I could not help feeling interested by the continual movement that surrounded us, and was glad to form a part of such an animated scene. Monsieur Dubois was a wiry, sallow little man, with bright black eyes, and a sharp, lively countenance. There was something about him that at once inspired me with confidence in him. His wife was more talkative and infinitely more gracious in manner than her husband, but much less pleasing. Before we had been together five minutes, she told me that Madame de Beaumonde (that was the name of the mistress of my school) would be enchanted to have any one in her house so amiable and distinguished as myself. This pretty speech did not flatter me much, by reason of the shortness of our acquaintance.

In less than half an hour we were on the road to Folkestone. The parting from Mrs. Fielding was terrible. I could not utter one word, for "my heart was empty of all things but grief." Just as we reached Folkestone harbour, the weather became squally, with gusts of heavy rain from the south. We were almost the last to go on board the steamer, and, as the cabin was crowded with passengers, we had to remain on deck during the three hours of crossing. Every one was ill. As for me, I never expected to live to reach the opposite shore. I could hardly manage to scramble up the wet slippery steps from the boat to the pier at Boulogne. The first persons I saw on landing were two soldiers, one on each side of the steps. They pointed to a shabby-looking building, to which there was a clear wide passage, the crowd on either side being kept off by ropes stretched from the doorway to the water's edge. Two more soldiers stood by the door through which we entered the building, which proved to be the custom-house. Most of the gentlemen passengers carried wet umbrellas, packages of railway wrappers, and damp cloaks or great-coats strapped together. The ladies, as is their wont, had little baskets or leather bags in their hands, and shawis